Firey Rebirth
by Atlantia
Summary: SLASH Johnny Storm. Brash, Arrogant, Confident. But what if the Surfer changed him somehow? What if Johnny had to accept that who he was would change his life forever? Can the world and his team come to accept the new him? SLASH JOHNNYxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Firey Rebirth**

_Ok. Spoilers for Rise of the Silver Surfer and obviously the first movie. I don't own any of the rights etc to F4 or any of the Marvel Characters._

_I hope you enjoy. This was an idea that just occurred to me and has stuck in my head… I mean lets face it – Johnny is just hot :) absolutely NO pun intended._

**What if the Silver Surfer had done something to Johnny during their fight just like he did to Doom? He gave Doom his human appearance back (whether intentionally or not), what if he gave Johnny something too?**

Chapter 1

"You win." The unbreakable grip was tight on his throat. The blank silver stare penetrated straight through him, as though the stranger was analysing his very genetic makeup.

He could feel the strength in the hand that held him, and power seemed to almost visibly pulse within his opponent. He didn't know how he could tell that, but something within him resonated in response to it. There wasn't a chance to dwell on it however, as consciousness was rapidly slipping away with his precious oxygen. His eyes started to slide shut and there was a brief surge of current that flowed from his captor to himself. He felt a momentary tingling across his entire body, then a sudden stabbing pain in his skull.

"Denial and uncertainty seem to be the cornerstones of your species." The voice was deep and resonant, almost otherworldly. Johnny tried to think of a response to the enigmatic statement, something witty and clever. Spiderman would have had something ready on the tip of his toungue, but Johnny's remaining second of consciousness slipped through his fingers, and then he was falling.

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He didn't remember much of the following minutes as the earth grew steadily larger in front of him. It occurred to him to attempt to flame on again, but his mind didn't seem to be working. He felt flame briefly flash around him, the now comforting feeling flowing through him, but it vanished as quickly as it came. His lethal plummet seemed to have slowed however and he tried again, succeeding in sustaining it for perhaps a second longer. He closed his eyes and focussed, desperately willing himself to burst into flame. He thought it sputtered briefly, like a guttering candle, but then he opened his eyes and it was too late.

With an almost bone cracking thud he slammed into the top of what appeared to be a dune. Sand flashed up in his face and he felt himself cartwheel awkwardly through the air, slamming into the ground several more times before tearing through some sort of fabric and coming to a stop.

The sound of sand settling gently around him filled the air as the world stopped spinning, and for several seconds he simply lay there, unmoving. As his mind eventually caught up with the fact that he was lying in what appeared to be a burning tent he managed to exert himself enough to scramble free. It wasn't that fire could normally harm him, but with the loss of his power seconds before and the strange encounter with the silver… "surfer", he didn't want to take the chance.

He didn't know what had been done to him, but already he could tell it'd been more than what it had looked like. He'd felt something moving inside him, as though the silver man had somehow peered into his mind and decided to rearrange what he found. Then there was his cryptic final remark.

Johnny shuddered briefly as blank silver eyes flashed into his mind. He didn't know how, but they almost seemed to have a secret knowledge in them, as though they knew his secret.

A secret he didn't even know he had.

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"Johnny?" His name was said with such genuine concern that even if he hadn't been able to tell it was Sue behind him he'd still have known who it was. Ben would have just barged into his space and Reed was blind to anything but his science. Well his science and Sue.

He was presently standing on the roof of the Baxter building, the shining '4' shaped skylights rising behind him. The welcome homes had been short, his accidental swapping of powers with Sue, and then the less than accidental swap with Ben had necessitated in depth investigations. He wondered when plummeting to Earth from the edges of space and living to talk about it had become so routine that it didn't even garner a comment.

"Hi Sue. Everything ok?" She stopped at the railing next to him, close, but not close enough to touch. They wouldn't be making that mistake again.

"Reed's already working on what he thinks the 'Surfer' may have done to you. Apparently it's all to do with the cosmic energy that's left inside all of us from the storm." Johnny didn't bother telling her he'd already heard Reed's theory. If it helped her to go over it again then he was ok with that. His mind was still too unstable for him to worry much about anything right now.

"Are you sure you're ok Johnny?" Evidently his non-response had his sister concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine sis, thanks. Just worried about accidentally touching you guys again. We don't want that happening unexpectedly." He didn't mention his other concerns; that the alien had done something more to him than just mess with his powers. Whatever it was, he somehow felt it was something only related to him, not something that affected the team. He didn't know why he thought that, perhaps it had been the very personal way those silver eyes had stared through him, or the seemingly meaningless farewell before he'd dropped him back to Earth.

Denial and uncertainty? He was the very antithesis of those 2 things. He always acted quickly and decisively with the facts he had at his disposal. Reed had chewed him out numerous times for acting too quickly and not thinking through his options. And he'd never tried to deny anything. He'd been the first to accept his new powers after the shuttle accident, embracing it with an acceptance that had taken the others weeks to achieve. Yet, now he doubted himself. Common sense told him he was just being screwed with, but he knew that wasn't the case.

"Well as long as you're sure Johnny. You know you can talk to me about this if you need to right? Don't let Ben get to you. He's just having some fun. It's just his way of dealing with it." He gave her a slight smile and nodded.

"Yeah, it's right. I know you guys are here if I need it." He had no intention of going to any of them of course, but if it kept them satisfied and off his back he could do them lip service.

With a final nod at him Sue turned and headed back inside, arms wrapped around herself to ward against the approaching evening chill. He sighed in relief at being left alone again and watched as the lights of New York came alive, replacing the natural beauty of the sun with the artificial beauty of technology.

He needed to go out, that's what he had to do. Hitting the clubs had always been his way of coping - losing himself in the booze, the music and the women.

So why then did that idea suddenly seem so unappealing to him?

Fin…


	2. Chapter 2

**Firey Rebirth**

_Thanks to the people who reviewed Chapter 1. It was nice to get such a quick response. To the person who said they wanted a Doom/Johnny though, sorry but this is not going to be that pairing._

_I have to admit it's not a pairing I'd actually ever thought about… points for that!_

_Personally I don't really see Johnny with any of the other recurring characters in F4… I mean I know people like to pair him with Reed, which makes sense… You know, since they're about the only 2 guys there, but personally I like Reed with Sue. I mean he's much older than Johnny for starters and Reed and Sue are kinda like the "parents" of the 4 with Johnny and Ben as 2 squabbling children._

_So I figured I'd have to create my own guy. I know most people see the words (ok, 'letters') OC and go "urgh" before hitting the next button - unless they're looking to read fiction about the TV show O.C. of course – but I figured it was about my only choice here :)_

_Now watch the people who didn't read the summary hit Back twice_

**Chapter 2**

Looking back on it as he sat at the dark end of the bar, Johnny really had no idea why he'd decided to go out.

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As the day faded further into night atop the Baxter Building the depression had seemed like a new friend, something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time. But in spite of that, he really didn't feel in a partying mood. Haunting silver eyes filled his vision with every blink however, and he desperately needed something to wash that image away. So, through sheer force of habit he'd gone inside, put something a little sexier on over his suit, thrown on a jacket and headed out the door.

He didn't really notice as the doorman had nodded politely to him, spouting some pleasantry on auto-pilot as he passed by. The revolving doors swallowed him up a moment later and then disgorged him onto the sidewalk, the street suddenly illuminated by the flash of a hundred cameras igniting.

Ever since their accident, there had been almost a permanent paparazzi presence across from their building. That had doubled when Reed and Sue announced their wedding, and now it seemed to have doubled yet again with the Surfer on the loose. With a newfound cynicism, he was almost certain however, that it was due to the spectacular failure of the wedding, rather than the fact that an unknown hostile life form was zooming around the planet.

Usually he'd have basked in the attention, maybe posed a little for the cameras. But tonight a new feeling of disquiet had settled into his mind and he really didn't want to be the centre of everything. Tonight he really just wanted to pretend he was Johnny Storm, citizen. Not John Storm, the Human Torch.

Since his encounter with the silver alien it seemed more and more of his life appeared like a façade. A pretty face to hide something troubled within. He knew he'd been happy playing up to the crowds, meeting all the people, being cheered and clapped at every turn. Truly he had… He'd never doubted himself before, or worried about something as deep as whom he truly was. He knew who he was – who could possibly know better?

"_Denial and uncertainty seem to be the cornerstones of your species."_

The doubt and fear he'd felt at those words revisited him with the echo in his mind. Even though the comment was a vast generalisation, it had been said with such a personal inflection. It was almost as though the sins of his race were somehow represented directly within him. He didn't know how it had happened, but it was as though the surfer had seen his soul, and found him wanting. And even though the creature had almost killed him, and was technically his enemy, somehow he knew what he'd said was the truth.

Something about Johnny Storm wasn't right.

When had he become such a glory seeking, attention hog anyway? He was sure he hadn't always been that way. Had he? When he'd been younger all he'd thought about were fast cars and bikes, the thrill of speed, kissing the occasional girl, sport. Sure he'd enjoyed showing off like every young guy, always trying to impress everyone, but wasn't he older now? Weren't people supposed to grow out of that?

And even if he was acting like that, what had changed? They had all been affected by their fame to a certain degree; maybe his was just more noticeable?

Reed seemed to be as quiet and introspective as ever, always thinking everything through and analysing it to the tiniest detail. Yet he had gained a sense of power and control over himself that Johnny wasn't sure he'd had before. As though having the power to change things for the better had galvanised the scientist into action. Ben was just as obnoxious, but his joking had assumed a more sombre aspect, seemingly tempered by both his new strength and appearance. And finally, Sue, who was still the big sister, always looking out for him. The one who scolded him like a child when he messed up, and gave him disappointed looks when he appeared with an arm around 2 girls. She seemed to get more poised and beautiful every day. It appeared that when you can turn invisible at will, all one really wanted was to be noticed.

A chill breeze snuck into his jacket at that moment, sending a shiver up his spine, and he realised he was still standing like a statue outside their building. Flashbulbs were continuing to go off across the street and he wondered how long it would take for them to get bored and move on to more interesting prey.

He didn't want to stand around here to find out though, so he quickly jumped into a cab and, after giving the name of some club he'd visited occasionally, settled back into the uncomfortable chair. Looking at the changes in his friends was disconcerting. If they'd really changed then perhaps he had too, and if he had then how much of his life was a lie? How much was the real Johnny Storm and how much was "John Storm", Fantastic Four poster boy? Had he really given up on himself in order to become what people needed him to be?

After they'd first got their powers the Fantastic Four had needed someone to put a face on them and bring them to a level everyday people were willing to accept. Fame seemed the only way to do that. Let the people gawk and point, better they get hounded by reporters than gun wielding mobs. It was an inevitability really that some heroes were better received than others, and those that didn't accept the fact that they were going to be photographed, pursued and stared at frequently got labelled as reclusive and dangerous.

There had been no choice really. Johnny had to assume that mantle. Reed was too bookish, too smart. People saw him as intellectually superior and that made them fear he was looking down on them and condescending. Ben was too rude, too in your face. Add that to the fact that honestly, people were afraid of him, and he was clearly not an option. And Sue, well, Sue was like Reed, except that not only was she smart and sophisticated, she was beautiful too. People couldn't relate to that, all they saw was an ice princess, high in her castle - An unattainable figure.

No, he'd been the only logical choice, and he'd accepted it, with the cockiness and exhilaration that only youth could provide. He'd pulled the stupid stunts, dated the stupid girls and sat through the lectures and recrimination from the other three. He'd done it all, and he'd never realised why.

He had assumed the role so well that he'd even forgotten that it was just that -a role. The more he thought about it though, sitting in the dingy back seat of the cab, the more he realised. His life was not of his choosing. He had done what society and the Fantastic Four had needed him too: He had become the noise to provide them with cover.

By the time people had stopped screaming at him to "flame on" and had become immune to the daily photograph of him with a new girl on his arm, the world was ready to accept the four of them; was ready to welcome a new group of heroes into the fold.

And all he'd had to do was sell himself. How cheap was that?

Somewhere along the way though, he'd become lost, and he'd forgotten who he was.

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The drink on the bar in front of him was untouched. The ice had long since melted into the scotch, diluting it to a colour that really brought to mind things one didn't want to picture in a drink. Behind him, thunderous bass filled the room, sending a vibration through everything, from his drink, to the air in his lungs. It turned out he hadn't really wanted anything to wash away his thoughts after all. And the loud music no longer made him want to grab some pretty girl and dance, now it just gave him a headache.

Reed and Ben would come looking for him soon, expecting to find him drunk off his face and needing to be rescued from the throng of girls that would have normally surrounded him. They'd be surprised he supposed, to find him sober and alone at the bar. The barely audible scrape of the chair next to him announced that he had a companion and he glanced over more out of habit than anything.

The woman was absolutely stunning to behold. The sort of exotic beauty that tantalised with a promise of something never before experienced. The low cut top and slit-to-the-waist dress were an obvious invitation for anyone to look closer, and a closer look would surely not have disappointed. She gave him one of those shy smiles that clearly said the giver was anything but, and took all of him in with a brief flick of her eyes.

"Johnny Storm?" The voice was as smooth and sensual as all previous clues had hinted it would be, and he corrected her without thought.

"John. We felt Johnny polled too young." She laughed as though he had made a witty remark, and he supposed to someone who didn't know what he had turned into since assuming the poster boy role, it would indeed sound like a disarming come on line. He felt a stab of hurt at that, but the worst part was that he actually _had_ polled about it. His stomach roiled at just how sick that thought made him. He hadn't realised until now how bad things were.

"Well… John… you seem plenty old enough to me." Her lips were curled into a seductive smirk, and he knew all he had to do was ask her if she felt like getting out of here and she'd be his. But his mouth wouldn't form the words, and to his surprise he found he didn't want to. Here was a stunning, sensual, willing woman, and Johnny Storm, sex god extraordinaire, felt no interest at all. And as he sat there staring across at her he thought he knew why. Johnny Storm wasn't really interested in a fling. That was what John Storm would have wanted. Johnny wanted what Reed and Sue had. Johnny wanted someone who didn't care that he was a celebrity; someone who wasn't just after a conquest to brag to their friends about or to sell the story to the papers.

Johnny Storm wanted to settle.

"Johnny, are you ok?" It was Reed's voice coming from over his shoulder and he turned around with a smile to greet it. As expected Ben was standing next to him in trench coat and hat, trying to look inconspicuous and failing. Both had an interesting mix of surprise and concern on their faces to find him at this distant end of the bar and in an apparently sober state.

"Yeah Reed. You know what? I really am." The older man looked between him and the woman sitting so temptingly close.

"Are you going to be home in a while then?" With a certainty that surprised even himself he hopped lightly off the bar stool and tossed a twenty beside his glass.

"You know what guys? I think I'm ready to go home right now." He paused briefly to nod politely to the frowning woman then gestured for the two men to precede him out.

"I think I'd really rather go for a movie on the couch. You think Sue would be interested?" Reed gave him a smile that, for the first time in months, reminded him that he had amazing friends.

"Yeah…" He paused briefly to give him a patronizing smile, "…John. I think she'd love that." He turned and looked briefly back at the bar as the crowd gradually obscured it from view. The woman was already several bar stools down, talking to a rather attractive middle aged man.

"You know what Reed. I think I'm going to go back to Johnny. Personally I think John's a bit of a jerk." On the other side of him Ben let out a sudden laugh, his gravely voice easy to make out even over the noise.

"Good to have you back kid. Now let's get outta this joint." The cool night air hit them then, the heat and noise of the club replaced with the sounds of traffic and pedestrians.

"Yeah. Let's." He looked up at the starlit sky, a vision of an eternal inky blackness filled with piercing silver eyes suddenly in his head.

"_Denial and uncertainty seem to be the cornerstones of your species."_

This time the vision brought no accusation with it, no deep sense of personal attachment. Instead it sounded more like a warning between friends; a statement from one stranded soul to another telling him to be careful.

He smiled up at the darkness, wishing he could throw an arm each around his two companions without causing havoc with their powers. He felt lighter, free, optimistic.

Denial and uncertainty may indeed be part of the human condition, but for Johnny, things were going to change.

Fin

_Wow… I love this chapter. I'm sure it's a bit long for most people, but I like words :)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Firey Rebirth**

_Thank you all for your kind reviews :)_

_As for the speed of updates, I've just got a bit of time on my hands at the moment which is why the next chapter came up so quickly. Definitely don't count on a daily update!_

_Also, just a quick warning…_

_I'm not one of these people who can recite the movie or the entire history of the Marvel Universe off by heart, so be forewarned that I am NOT going to be strictly sticking to cannon. I know enough to get by, but if I say in the course of the story that Reed graduated from Harvard and he actually graduated from MIT or whatever, please don't send me an email telling me I'm wrong :)_

_Don't get me wrong – if you know the history of every single hero ever created and how they all relate to each other I think that's great – that's a 'cool' of it's own kind, seriously – I have nothing but respect. I however, do not have that depth of knowledge. I read/watch simply for the fun of seeing super powered people battling evil, and usually, angst-ing along the way. (Seriously, sometimes I watch spiderman cartoons/movies and just think… Holy crap the world totally has it in for him. Cut the guy a freaking break already!)_

_I personally like the angst though – nothing humanises a nearly invincible team of superheroes more than squabbles, flaws and mistakes._

_Oh – just FYI – I'm taking Johnny Storms age to be 25 (the actor who plays him is about that old so I'm going with that), not whatever age he is in the comics. I think he was younger in them…_

**Chapter 3**

Stepping from the relative darkness of the underground station into the bright sunlight, Michael paused for a second to allow his eyes to adjust before taking in his surroundings. The street was crowded with people and traffic, rushing about their business as though the world rested on their shoulders. One last remnant of the British Empire he supposed – a "parent to the world" syndrome that would probably continue for at least another generation. Not exactly a bad thing really when one considered that as far as historical and moral leadership went, not much of it was left in the world these days.

From down the street, the rumble of an outdated diesel engine was accompanied by a sudden rush of air as a vibrant red double deck bus passed close by in front of him. His black hair whipped into his eyes as it tried to trail after the bus down the street, reminding him yet again that he hadn't had it cut since he'd arrived in England. It was past due. Of course it made little difference to him if it was short or long, but his parents had requested regular photos from his holiday, and if he had it too long, the next (badly typed and poorly set out) email he received would be from his father calling him a hippie and telling him that he needed a good military buzz cut. The flipside of that was that if he had it cut too short his mother would be the one emailing him and telling him his face was 'gaunt' and that he obviously wasn't eating enough.

Even half a world away he couldn't quite shake them off his back.

Not that it was entirely a bad thing of course. But sometimes he felt like just turning around and carefully explaining to them that he was an adult now. He'd even graduated university and headed off on an overseas trip for god's sake. It was time for them to back off a little and look forward to their upcoming retirement. Though he suspected retirement was the reason they were becoming increasingly clingy. Too many sitcoms with elderly infirm parents consigned to old folks homes.

Today though, he really didn't want to think about his parents, his home or his hair. He was only in London for another 3 days then it was on to Paris through the Chunnel, and from there, the rest of Europe. He had to pack his last few days with everything London had to offer.

In front of him, there was a sudden break in the flow of cars, and, deciding to flagrantly violate the jaywalking laws, he shot across the street before the flow could resume. As both feet landed safely on the pavement on the other side of the road he turned to the right and set off with the rest of the human traffic, weaving in and out of those around him. As he wasn't a native of the city he wasn't sure exactly how to get where he was going, and the directions given by the information booth had been disturbingly general. As he rounded the corner however, the London Eye rose above the surrounding buildings like a god sized pinwheel. That certainly made it a lot easier. He figured as long as he just kept heading in that general direction he'd have to get there eventually.

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From a vantage point high in the air, Johnny decided that the sprawling bulk of London looked less like a modern city and much more like a child's scribble. Whether that was by accident, plan or laziness he had no idea, but it was there all the same. In fact, the longer he stared down at it below him, the more certain he was that if it weren't for the apparent cultural value of the place, no one would ever come. It was smoggy, congested, crowded… Antique. He liked the modern steel and glass that made New York seem so clean when he saw it from the sky. Of course on the ground it was anything but, as he was certain that London was nowhere near as dingy on the ground as it looked from up here. Still, first impressions were lasting they say.

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They'd arrived at Heathrow almost a day ago now; he on foot, the others on a 737, and it had become immediately obvious that his efforts were not required in the planning stages. After a brief stop at their hotel room to drop off their luggage, Reed and Sue had promptly been roped in by the army in a desperate attempt to narrow down the site where the surfer would appear. They'd been greeted at the elevator as they were coming back out and summarily rushed into the hotel conference room, where computer terminals were already set up ready and waiting. Apparently the figures they'd obtained from Reed's initial calculations were not precise enough to suit the logistically minded General. Personally Johnny thought he'd done pretty well. Narrowing their enemy's location down from the entire planet to one city was a remarkable achievement. It was certainly more than any of them had managed to do.

But, looking at it from the other side, he could see they had a point. In a city of millions, knowing precisely where the hole would emerge could mean the difference to thousands of lives. There was no way they could possibly hope to evacuate the entire city, and he could only imagine the outcry if it opened up under Buckingham palace… Though he was sure that was at least one place that would have been emptied at the first sign of trouble.

So Reed had indulged them, probably his own sense of morality demanding that he do every single possible calculation in an attempt to save those lives. Sue was right there beside him the whole time, along with a couple of white coat clad government scientists. The General stood nearby but out of their way, a representative of the British government by his side, presumably listening in and offering tactical advice as required. From a couch too far away to hear what they were saying, Johnny watched as Reed and Sue poured over every number and option available to them. There was a commitment and dedication in both of them that he didn't think he'd ever bothered paying attention to before. A fact that now brought a sense of shame to him as he realised how very selfish he'd been in the past. Here now were two people who were trying to help for no other reason than that it was the right thing to do.

Even the best intentions couldn't make a solution out of thin air though, and after several hours of ultimately fruitless work, the normally calm Reed had thrown his hands up in the General's face and stated that he could do no more. 10 minutes of pointless arguing later it became clear to everyone that Reed was correct. There was simply no way to narrow down the exit point for a shaft sunk seemingly straight through the planet. It could come up anywhere in the greater London area. It was a depressing thought, and after that there had been very little to do except sit around and plan. This too had proved to be a pointless endeavour however, as without knowing the precise location, they could do very little but come up with general strategies like "we should try and immobilise him", or "can we distract him with something?".

Johnny tried to pay attention to what they were saying, he really did, but he couldn't stop his mind wandering off to his own problems. Since his encounter with the Surfer and the subsequent revelations that had come along with it, he felt like he'd turned some kind of mental corner. The things that had used to captivate him and seem so reasonable were suddenly no longer as interesting or important as they used to. Fans shoving sheets of paper at him for autographs no longer made him smile roguishly and oblige. Now he felt like telling them to get lost and leave him alone while turning the paper to ash in his hand. He'd never do it of course; that would have caused a public relations scandal and disappointed the rest of his team. Sue in particular. The old Johnny wouldn't have cared about any of that, but new Johnny wanted his sister to be proud of him. He _wanted_ to be a part of the team like he never had before. This was something important and meaningful, much more than cars or girls. Being on the Fantastic Four meant he could make a difference. This was fate of the world sort of stuff. He was only glad something had brought him out of his destructive spiral before he'd gone too far. For that he almost felt like he owed the strange silver alien a debt of gratitude he could never repay.

He probably should have told the others what had happened between the two of them up in the stratosphere. He probably should have told them the surfer had actually spoken to him and that it seemed intelligent. He _definitely _should have told them that something had been done to his mind; that he was seeing and thinking about things differently. Somehow though it seemed like what had been done and said was a private moment. He didn't know why, but it felt like the Surfer had confided in him somehow by speaking with him. He had given him a revelation that was already changing his life. He didn't want to have Reed analyse it and tell him how it was all an accident. Or have Sue want to check him out for head injuries after the fall. He definitely didn't want Ben telling him he was being ridiculous and calling him useless or irresponsible. Especially when he was finally starting to realise that he _had_ been those things for a long time now.

He abruptly realised that the room had fallen silent at some point while he had been sitting contemplatively off to the side. Only two of the white coat wearing scientists remained, staring into a glowing monitor, either desperately trying to find something Reed had missed or working on something to trap and destroy the surfer. The doors to the conference room were open wide and hotel staff were moving in and out with equipment and dishes. To his left there was the sound of someone gently clearing their throat and Johnny looked over into a pair of warm brown eyes. A young guy about the same age as him glanced away from his gaze as he looked up and gestured at the glass sitting on the table.

"Are you done with this sir?" Johnny hadn't even realised there was a glass there to start with. He smiled up at the waiter.

"Sure. I should probably get to bed anyway." He stood up from the couch, passing the glass over as he did so, the other boy depositing it onto a tray.

"Thank you. Have a good night sir." Johnny nodded and raised his arms above his head to stretch out the kinks in his back, tilting his head back and twisting his neck a bit. He heard a slight intake of breath as he did this and looked over to see the other's brown stare focussed on the inch of bare flesh his stretch had exposed above his pants. They shot hurriedly away as soon as he looked, but he was certain he'd seen it nonetheless. Almost involuntarily he dropped one hand behind his head, the other sliding down over his chest and rubbing lightly at the bare skin, lifting the shirt several more inches in the process. The uniform clad youth in front of him was staring bashfully out of the corner of his eye, attempting to look like he was wiping the table in front of him; but when the shirt lifted above his navel the blush that flooded the other boy's face gave away that he was definitely observing. He took his hand away, allowing the shirt to fall back into place, the waiter meeting his eye as he did. Johnny felt a sly smile flit across his lips and he winked.

"You have a good night too man." He spun around then, pushing past the scientists as he did so and then hit the elevator button in the corridor outside. It wasn't until he was actually riding up to his floor that it finally hit home what had just happened. He had been flat out flirting with that guy… Forget that, more important was that he had _flirted_ with a _guy!!!_ His eyes shot open as the realisation sank in and he felt himself start to hyperventilate from the shock. He swiftly hit the emergency stop button, not hearing the ringing of the alarm that started as he did so. He slumped back into the wall, a hand over his stomach, mouth screwed up in a grimace. He felt sick to his core and he didn't know why. He guessed really it made sense. Women found him attractive and everywhere he went they were either staring at him or flirting with him, why wouldn't some guys? It had just never occurred to him before, and he was certain he'd never _noticed_ before, let alone participated in it. Why had he suddenly noticed it down there with some anonymous waiter who wasn't even particularly attractive?

That caused another grimace to cross his face as he realised that he'd actually _checked out _the other boy. He was a flirt yes, but he'd never flirted with a guy before. Ever. But suddenly it had seemed so natural. Someone was checking him out, so he'd flirted, the fact it was a guy hadn't seemed relevant at the time. Now however, he was just about ready to break down. He wasn't gay! God, he'd never even looked at another man before, this had to be a freak occurrence. The world couldn't handle a gay superhero, it would totally destroy the team, not to mention ruin his life. He had enough trouble with the publicity surrounding him every time he was seen in public with a woman. Admittedly, at the time he hadn't cared, he had been deep into his denial at that point, but he could only imagine what would happen if it came out that the Human Torch preferred men. Oh god, he could see the headlines now, 'Human Torch comes out. Gay activists cry 'Flame On''.

It wasn't that he had a problem with people being gay, as far as he was concerned it was up to the individual, and as long as no one was hurting anyone else why should he care? But that was for _other_ people, it was no good for him. He was a role model, a super hero, a public figure, and instantly recognisable. He shuddered on the floor of the elevator, thinking of the worst possible outcomes… He _couldn't _be gay, absolutely positively _could not_.

"_Denial and uncertainty seem to be the cornerstones of your species."_

What the hell had the surfer done to him? Suddenly the gift he'd been given didn't seem so rosy, and he wanted nothing so much as some sort of brain scan to tell him it was just that – something that had been done to him. The fact that all the other 'realisations' he'd had over the last couple of days had all been completely true didn't mean anything to him at that moment. In order for this to be true that would mean that he had been gay since before he became one of the Fantastic Four. Had he been gay at the academy? God, was that why he never seemed to click with any of the women he had met?

"_Denial and uncertainty."_

Had he been in denial this whole time? He had changed his entire personality in order to be who he needed to be in the group, had he done it before that too? Had he done and been what he needed to for the academy also? His life suddenly seemed like an incredibly convoluted and messy onion. Every time he peeled away a layer there was more underneath. Had he truly repressed and denied himself for that long?

The elevator shuddered beneath him and suddenly resumed its passage up through the levels. A soft ping sounded as it reached his original destination, the doors whispering open on a crowded corridor. Sue and Reed were right at the front of the crowd, a hotel manager standing next to them with a key in the elevator control panel. Several other members of the army and hotel staff were also standing around, Ben located way at the back to prevent blocking the hall.

"Johnny? Are you ok?" Sue sounded concerned, and he figured he must really look like hell. He met her gaze for only a second before he looked away. Even looking at her felt like a lie. He still had one arm wrapped around his stomach and he pushed off the back wall of the lift.

"No." She went to reach for him but, remembering his power switching abilities stopped at the last minute, allowing him to slip past both her and Reed before stopping when Ben blocked the way.

"I just want to go to bed now. Please?" His pain must have been visible in his eyes, because the normally insensitive team member seemed to soften before him, stepping off to the side again. His gravely voice was surprisingly gentle.

"Yeah. Sure thing kid." He nodded gratefully and pushed open his room door, barely even pausing on the way to the bed. He pulled his shirt off as he went, stopping for only a second as his hand lightly brushed his stomach, making him shiver at the memory.

He dropped into bed like a stone, his eyes heavy. Everytime he went to close them however he kept seeing flashbacks. Everything from highschool, to the academy, to the last couple of years; and in every single one there were things he had never noticed before.

He remembered Paul, his best friend from highschool, the sleep overs, time hanging out, messing around in gym… The subtle sideways glances he had thrown when he thought Paul wasn't looking. Then the day Paul _had_ been looking and they started drifting apart. The way Paul suddenly wouldn't look at him when they bumped into each other. Wouldn't change in front of him. Didn't want to sleep over unless there were a bunch of other people there too. He suddenly realised what had been going on. But he hadn't been looking at him like that had he? All guys checked each other out in the shower occasionally didn't they?

Next came his days at the academy flight school. He remembered the slightly nerdy little kid who had always been hanging around him, trying to talk to him about anything at all. He remembered his friends pulling the kid aside one day after he'd come into their dorm to see him workout. He remembered seeing the kid a few days later, bruised and swollen as his parents picked him up outside the admin building. But he'd gotten into a fight with one of the instructors hadn't he?

Finally came his experiences since joining the Fantastic Four, the clubs where he would find himself brushing up against the guy dancing behind him, or squeezing between two people dancing, only to find himself joining in as the guy gyrated against him. He remembered the guy at one particular bar who had bought him drinks all night and who'd thrown an arm around him when they sat in a booth to watch the show. But that had just been a gesture of friendliness. There was nothing out of the ordinary about a guy putting his arm around another guy was there? He did it with Reed and Ben all the time.

Never once had he seen these things as anything unusual, but as he looked at them in a new light they became sinister and dark. A past he had never realised he had. God what if it was true?

Nothing good could come of this, of that he was certain. And for the first time since his encounter with the Silver Surfer he wanted to take it back. He didn't want this revelation. This was something he couldn't deal with. Some things were better off hidden so deeply in your mind you didn't even know you were hiding them, and this was definitely one of them.

By the time he finally drifted off into fitful sleep as the sun was rising in the window he was more confused than ever, desperately trying to repress every memory of the last few hours before he could wake up.

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And so here he was, dressed in his skin tight suit, sitting in a hovering chopper as they circled endlessly over the city waiting for the slightest hint of trouble. His eyes were open only through sheer force of will, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel room and sleep for eternity.

He hadn't been able to meet the stare of any of his team mates when he'd been awakened only a couple of hours after getting to sleep, convinced that if he looked at any of them for more than a second they'd know straight away what had happened. And now, as the General and Reed argued quietly behind him in the chopper he still didn't want to risk it, so all he could focus on was the city outside. He was surrounded in a sort of numb cotton wool feeling that stopped him from thinking too deeply about anything, not the world, or the surfer, or the team. But no matter how hard he desperately wasn't thinking, his mind kept coming back to that one simple fact:

He had flirted with another guy.

And he had liked it.

That thought stayed with him even as he watched the river churn beneath him, the river bed surging and breaking up.

It stayed with him as the chopper headed in to land near the enormous Ferris wheel called London's Eye.

He worried that it would stay with him for a long time.

Fin

_Hmm… well lots of character development. Hope that's ok with you guys. Plus we see the plot advance of course._


	4. Chapter 4

**Firey Rebirth**

_Thanks again to you great people who reviewed. I have to admit it's nice to see people like the story. I'm not one of these review hogs who won't write a chapter till they get a certain number of reviews or so on, but it's nice to know people are reading it._

_Which shouldn't be taken as an invitation to stop reviewing :) but I'm not going to force you._

_I know the last chapter was pretty long. I think it was about 4000 words… which hopefully won't become a regular thing. I knew how I wanted to close the chapter though and just had to fill in the gaps._

_I'm one of those writers who start with an end and a beginning and then fill in the middle. I find it gives you a target and you don't start wandering all over the place. I once had a friend tell me it was a "military" way of writing and wasn't very creative :) I say "if it ain't broke…"_

_I also just noticed that almost the entire story has been written in semi-flashback form. The character starts out at the end and then we flashback to see how they got there. That's a new one for me. I like it though :) I guess the tone I wanted for this story just suited that method._

_Anyway, I realised I haven't really put a disclaimer in any of my chapters since I think the first one._

_I'm sure if it came to a court case the disclaimer is probably not worth the pixels it's displayed on, but anyway:_

_I do not own Marvel. I do not own the Fantastic Four. I do not own Spiderman, Iron Man, X-men, Captain America…. You get the idea. If I DID own them these sorts of stories would actually be in print somewhere and not floating around in cyberspace. Of course I can't draw for squat, so I'm sure the company would go bust very quickly._

**Chapter 4**

To say that Michael was a little surprised when the ground started shaking underneath his feet would be like saying the moon was just a short stroll from the Earth. London wasn't known for being an earthquake hot spot, and the stunned faces of the locals and tourists surrounding him was no doubt mirrored on his own. A few meters away a young baby in a pram started sobbing, obviously awakened from a sound sleep. His mother, gripping the stroller handles with a white knuckled grip, appeared too concerned with what was happening around her to try and calm her screaming infant. Only a second later both mother and infant hit the ground as the trembling intensified, tipping the pram like a plastic cup blown by a breeze. An elderly couple to his right, sitting on a bench, were abruptly dropped to the ground also as the seat legs splayed outwards like a fan. Behind him, the sound of crumbling masonry announced the collapse of some ancient edifice, screams joining with the staccato crashing of brickwork as people tried to get away in time, presumably some unable to do so. Around him, people hurriedly grabbed onto trees, garbage bins, relatives; anything that offered them some support as their feet moved below them. Objects more than a couple of feet away turned into vague, blurred shapes as the shaking worsened yet again, the only constant being the shadowed silhouette of the city in the distance.

Then, in the space of a split second, silence seemed to fall across the crowds, and for a moment it almost seemed time itself had stopped around them. Scared and suspicious eyes flashed across the courtyard as the first thought to cross Michael's mind was no doubt the same as everyone else; a bomb. In these times it was usually the first thing anyone ever thought when something unusual happened, and this was definitely unusual.

No plume of fire or smoke appeared to herald destruction however and silence reigned for perhaps as long as five seconds, broken only by a few sobs and the occasional scream. People around him were beginning to pick themselves up and tend to their injuries. Michael saw the old man and his wife whose chair had collapsed beneath them trying to sit up, in obvious pain from the fall. He had just taken a step toward them to help, when the pavement beneath him suddenly ceased to act so much like the solid bedrock of earth and more like the thin peel of an orange; lifting away from the core underneath. The plaza surrounding the London Eye seemed to visibly flex and ripple, as though a giant hammer had struck the ground like a gong. He stumbled, his feet losing their purchase on the paving, and he landed hard on his left knee, feeling the denim of his jeans tear. A split second later a flow of warmth informed him that his skin had torn also. He hissed and lifted the knee slightly, sinking back to sit on the ground.

Above him, a loud buzzing announced the arrival of helicopters, swarming to the plaza like the white blood cells were no doubt doing to his knee. Crowds cleared away as they made ready to land and, as if to facilitate their escape, the ground seemed to slowly settle back down. The choppers appeared to hang suspended for a second above the rocking earth, almost suffering from indecision, and then touched down without incident. The whine of the turbine engines was still filling the air however, when a sound like stones cracking against each other rose from the river edge of the concourse.

With a sideways lurch the edge of the plaza disappeared into the river, breaking apart like a brittle pie crust. From the frayed edges, cracks started opening, their initially cavernous size swallowing people and plants as they snaked across the pavement. They appeared to almost move in slow motion as they approached the bulk of the astonished crowd, still standing or sitting around in their path. As they headed further and further from the riverbank however, the large cracks grew progressively smaller and smaller, forming a spiderweb like pattern, until, by the time they reached Michael's stunned form they were barely visible. The only evidence was a slight patina on the pavement, resembling nothing so much as finely aged porcelain. Beyond what was left of the riverbank a plume of water blasted into the air, seemingly thrown up from underneath. Clumps of brown river mud mixed in amongst the liquid, churning it to a disgusting brown colour and throwing waves over the banks on both sides.

It seemed to Michael that the fears of a bomb were well founded, the explosion coupled with the arrival of the helicopters all seemed to scream terrorism. Added to that, men wearing army fatigues poured out into the shattered mall, guns pointed at the source of the explosion as though they anticipated something could have survived that. Behind them however, were 4 people Michael recognised without introduction, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline in surprise. If the Fantastic Four had come to London, then something serious was going on.

The four of them moved a little away from the slowly spinning down chopper blades, apparently deep in discussion. Above them the shuddering wheel started to emit the squealing sound of tortured metal. Like fingernails down a blackboard, every hair on his body was abruptly standing on end, almost afraid to look up to see what was happening now. A twang, like a plucked guitar string played through a megaphone, replaced the squealing with the suddenness of a gunshot, and the crowd visibly flinched in terror. With a crack louder than the explosion and the shaking combined, one of the supporting wires from the London Eye smashed into the pavement, digging itself half a foot into the concrete with the force.

Luckily, no one had been unfortunate enough to be underneath it, but with astonishing speed, panic swept across the crowd of people still standing around. From Michael's vantage point slightly off to the side it was almost like watching a nature film with one of those classic African stampedes. Like they all shared only a single thought the crowd seemed to turn as one and flow toward the relative safety of the streets like prey before a predator. Screaming seemed to return to people's minds and the frantic cries of both men and women echoed off the surrounding structures as those in the way were swiftly and brutally pushed down and trampled. Behind them, another crack announced the failure of a second supporting wire, this one thankfully whipping the other way, sending up a plume of water as it disappeared into the river.

The Eye seemed to tremble like a cymbal on a drum kit as the crowd desperately tried to escape, and in the carriages suspended around the giant metal ring Michael could make out the terrified shapes of adults and children. He could tell not nearly everyone was going to clear the plaza in time if the wheel decided to crash down on them and with an effort he finally managed to push himself up into a standing position. His blood caked knee cracked painfully as he did so, the newly formed scab breaking open again. From a standing position however, he could see the Thames beyond the edge of the shattered concrete & brickwork, a whirlpool like vortex forming in the centre of it reminiscent of something from 20,000 leagues under the sea. From a carriage about a third of the way around the Eye a dark shape suddenly appeared, plummeting with lethal looking force toward the dark waters below. Even from the distance he was at the impact sounded clearly fatal, and sure enough, a second later the shape resurfaced, face down, and was swiftly pulled down the funnel nearby.

He desperately squeezed his eyes shut as another wet splash followed the first, swallowing down the almost overwhelming urge to vomit. When he opened them again he was looking at the base of the wheel, where the army men had formed a ring of relative serenity, and the Fantastic Four were appearing from behind the foundations along the riverbank. In addition to them, several non military people seemed to be there as well. Standing under the very centre of the crippled structure, a group of what looked like business men in suits were on the loading platform; catching a family who had been in a carriage that had almost made it to the ground.

Michael had never really considered himself a potential hero before. In fact, if he'd been asked, he probably would have said he'd have been one of the first people down the street. But as he stood there now, in that split second, seeing everyday people desperately trying to save people they didn't even know, it occurred to him that not everything was about looking after yourself.

He stood still for another brief moment in the middle of the square, and then, as a third guy-wire whipped loose and sliced neatly through a tree about a hundred metres away, he stepped toward the towering disc and started to run.

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Stepping out of the vibrating chopper onto a similarly vibrating earth was an unsettling experience to say the least. One's mind simply had trouble accepting that something as massive and permanent as the Earth could ever really move. But as he took in the surroundings it became even clearer that whether one's mind accepted it or not, the earth was very capable of moving. At the rear of the plaza, a collapsed building spewed rubble into the surrounding streets and courtyards, broken piles of brick and mortar choking the air nearby with dust. At the other extreme, the concrete paving ended abruptly, making it clear that there should have been more earth where the river was now flowing. Around and within the rubble, people stood in a kind of dazed disbelief, some attempting to move those who were injured toward safer seeming ground.

Reed and Sue started toward the shattered concourse edge, Ben behind them, going over options and plans with a speed that few could really keep up with. He could vaguely make out what they were saying, something along the lines of making sure the people were kept safely out of the way. Witnessing the devastation around him Johnny silently agreed. This had gone from being a potential trap for the surfer to an all out rescue of trapped civilians.

Above him, the enormous Ferris wheel seemed too delicate to support its own weight, fine steel and cable wrought into a beautiful blend of simplicity and elegance. As he looked at the base however, a sick feeling settled into his stomach. The cracking, caused by the subsidence of the river bed, was particularly obvious around the supports of the massive structure. In addition to that, the wiring that held the whole thing so tightly together, was noticeably loose in some places and over stretched in others. A small after shock trembled through the boots of his suit, barely even felt after the shaking of a minute ago, but it brought with it a shriek that would have put a banshee to shame. Now almost directly above his head the metal framework of the wheel moved slightly, one of the support piers sinking marginally, settling a distance of at most an inch.

With a snap like an enormous starter's pistol, a support wire less than 30 feet from him gave way in spectacular fashion, the concussion of its parting feeling like a sudden gust of wind on his face. The upper portion sailed out and up, twisting in the air like a deadly ribbon, until it ran out of energy and sagged back across the top of the wheel itself. The lower half rebounded like a whip, the concrete splintering before it like rotted timber as it buried itself in the foundation of the plaza. He looked up to see a mirror of his own nervousness reflected in the other three team members, not exactly filling him with confidence.

They didn't appear to be the only ones affected by such a brutal display of the forces at work however, as the crowd behind them suddenly seemed to realise exactly how dangerous the area had become. A mass exodus began with startling speed, reportedly one of the world's most civilised people reduced to the level of barbarians in only seconds as they clambered to be at the front of the group. Spurring the crowds to greater heights of panic, a second guy wire chose that moment to give way. The whistling sound of its flight was shortly terminated by a wet crack; that for some reason reminded Johnny of a towel whip in a locker room. A light spray of water drifted across them from the plume created by the wire, feeling oddly like a refreshing spring shower. In front of him Reed was talking, gesturing above him and to the rapidly appearing vortex in the centre of the Thames River, but Johnny had turned to look back up at the plaza.

Behind him he could glimpse the small group of soldiers the general had hand picked for the mission fanning out and around them, trying to keep the area clear for them to work. He could see the fear and uncertainty on all of their faces as they threw tentative glances up at the staggering heights above them. Not one of them hesitated for even an instant however, to do what or go where they were told. His eyes slipped away from them at that thought, abruptly unable to look at them without feeling sick. He only wished he had the dedication to stand and face something that seemed unimaginable, when all he wanted to do was run.

The sick feeling in his stomach abruptly mutated into something else and he shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. The spandex-like material of his uniform felt like a softly flowing second skin as it moulded with his shape. He knew he wasn't talking about the surfer, or the wheel, or even the trapped people anymore. And what he wanted to run away from couldn't be escaped as easily as the dangerously unstable wheel above them. What he needed to escape from was himself. The simple fact was that he didn't trust himself anymore, not since the previous night had shaken him so badly. It had been so easy at the time to just go with it, to not think about it and act. It didn't sound that bad, but normal guys acted like that all the time and they never ended up flirting with another man. When he'd been desperately denying who he was and living like people thought he should, he had never even _thought_ of it, even when he'd been so drunk he could barely tell a man from a woman. Now though, it was like he had to actually stop himself from going that far. It shouldn't have to be like that.

They were on the edge of the river by this point, standing on the surviving foundations of the Eye, the brown water churning and flowing below them in a manner he was certain was not normal for the Thames. It matched the churning in his guts perfectly. Reed was inspecting the concrete and steel foundation, Ben beside him trying to desperately lift the support enough to stop the wheel from tipping over. A few feet out into the river a humanoid shape appeared from above, suddenly slamming into the water with enough force to splash them 20 feet away. A second later a man in a black suit floated to the surface, thankfully face down, and was sucked into the widening vortex. He saw Sue turn away, unable to contemplate someone leaping to their own death, when hope could be so close at hand. Johnny couldn't help watching with morbid fascination though, as only brief moments later a second body impacted the water. This time the body floated face up, the green dress half covering the terrified face as the blonde hair fanned out in the churning water behind it. He watched the young woman until she too disappeared into the whirlpool to join her… Husband? Father? Brother? It was entirely different circumstances of course, but he could sympathise with being faced with a situation so terrifying that you were willing to do anything to escape that. Even if the escape appeared to be more dangerous.

Beside him Reed announced that it was a lost cause and that the pier was as solid as they could make it, prompting Sue with a gentle tug to return to the loading dock above them. Johnny stayed for a few moments, thoughts as disturbed as the muddy water below. When he did return to the upper level he arrived to the sight of several suited men catching the occupants of one of the lower cars as it swayed on its pivoting attachment, obviously disregarding their own safety to grab those trapped aboard. Across the concourse he could see a couple of other small groups helping those trapped in wreckage or trampled by the fleeing crowd, choosing to risk their own lives in the process. A couple of people were even staggering toward them, probably not knowing if it was safer to try and flee, or stay where the armed men seemed to be congregating. It was slightly saddening to realise that if this all turned out for the best, these people would probably barely merit a footnote in the newspapers and popular press, glossed over in an attempt to make the four of them look like the heroes as usual.

Another tremor passed under foot then, this time not related to the ground underneath them but the mass above, as the hub of the wheel started to separate from the supporting strut. A loud humming filled the air as the wire spokes of the Eye vibrated in rhythm, sending a shiver up his spine. However with a speed and agility that his bulk would seem to deny him, Ben was under the bottom of the curve before he even had a chance to think about what to do. Within a second the sideways movement halted, and it briefly seemed that the connection had actually held, giving them the time they needed to do something about the people trapped within the cars; but with a groan Ben sagged a little, the screech of metal above them confirming that it was him, not the building, that was holding everything up.

Reed was next to act, stretching far above them amongst the wires and struts, weaving in and out like a giant rubber band before securing himself at the rear of the centre hub, trying to pull the central disc back onto its bracket. This seemed to give Ben the edge he needed, and he managed to straighten up and return the Eye to a relatively upright and correct position. Sue joined in then, a shimmering field of energy blossoming in the centre of the spokes, spreading out but not quite reaching the edges. The business men had backed off when it became clear that the supports weren't going to hold, but the movement had lowered another car almost to ground level. Inside, the people were desperately waving and trying to get someone's attention. One of the older men pulled the others back from the glass and with a violent thrust of his elbow started to break out the window. Johnny took a step towards them, planning to catch at least the children as they were lowered out, but a pressure on his arm stopped him.

Looking down he observed a hand gripping him and holding him back. The hand was slightly tanned, but had a fineness to it that made it obvious the tan had been achieved by lying on a beach, not working outdoors. His eyes looked up from the hand to the young man attached, and for some reason a buzzing began in his ears, blocking out the panic and noise surrounding him. The boy was maybe only a year younger than him, standing there looking decidedly worse for wear. His chest rose and fell with heavy breathing as he recovered from what must have been a sprint across the open plaza. Longish black hair was stuck to the fine boned face and neck in several places with dirt and sweat, while his clothing appeared torn from several falls and scrapes. Blood seemed to have congealed around the guy's left knee, but without looking closer Johnny couldn't tell if it was coming from an open wound or if he'd just knelt in someone else's. The thing that gripped him most however, was the amazingly clear green eyes that met his gaze with a nervous timidity, belied by the strong grip on his bicep.

"I'll do it. You have more important things to do." The world around him made a sudden reappearance and he drew in a startled breath he hadn't known he was holding. The guy's other hand was pointing up into the heights of the scaffold like wheel where Reed was frantically calling for his help. The hand released his arm, the spot where it had gripped feeling cold after the heat of the other's palm. He tried to swallow to get some moisture back into his mouth, but felt like choking on it as he kept staring into the slightly younger man's eyes. Reed's voice was becoming more and more frantic from above him, and he could hear Sue somewhere off to side asking what was wrong.

It was he who broke the gaze, a blush heating his face up and tinting it slightly pink. God what was _wrong_ with him. He had just been staring into the guy's _eye_s like some love sick teenager. This was getting worse and worse. Even if this was who he truly had been before he settled into his state of denial, he needed this to stop. He simply _couldn't_ be like this, being who he was.

The hand grabbed his arm again, the heat transferring straight through the thin lycra material of his suit, waking him from his contemplation.

"Hey are you ok man?" The voice was concerned and those damn green eyes were fixed on him again, causing his blush to deepen further. They stirred uncomfortable feelings in his stomach that made his mind scream to know _why_ he couldn't be gay. It made him want to tell the world to go screw itself and let him be whoever he wanted to be. But he couldn't do that anymore than the guy in front of him could burst spontaneously into flame.

He roughly jerked his arm out of the slight hand, turning slightly away to put some distance between them.

"Don't touch me." His voice sounded rough to his ears, a slight hysterical edge to it that he wasn't used to hearing. The man in front of him seemed surprised, no doubt shocked to hear a supposed hero speak to someone so rudely. The face fell as the surprise faded, a hurt expression settling there instead.

"Ok. Sure man. You'd better get going." The dark haired boy turned to head toward the dangling carriage where the glass had now almost completely been knocked out. His back was turned to Johnny and for some irrational reason he felt the urge to call out and apologise to the guy and try to explain, like one would to a date they had accidentally offended. The absurdity of that thought made him grit his teeth in frustration, desperately fighting against his own skewed impulses. He couldn't handle this anymore. It felt like every moment he was awake he had to fight against his own mind; a tug of war that seemed to drain the energy straight out of him. It had to stop. He desperately wanted to go back to how it was beforehand, even if it had all been a lie.

As though hearing his prayer, a rumble sounded from the vortex in the river, the water vibrating and churning unpredictably. With an explosion, the water was blasted in every direction, soaking all those nearby and splattering mud and river stones across the pavement and steel. A light mist filled the air as the water condensed, and there, hovering over the huge hole was the surfer, astride his board.

To Johnny, it seemed as though his salvation was right there, glittering in the sunlight, surrounded by a halo of illuminated water droplets. If he didn't grab it now he might never get another chance.

Ignoring the cries of Reed above him, and the panicking questions from Sue, Johnny flamed on and abandoned them, rushing out over the river to stop the surfer before it was too late.

_Fin_

_Well there it is. Yes I know I'm taking liberty with the story and plot. It's called fiction people :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Firey Rebirth**

_Wow. Not a single review for the previous chapter. Depressing:) kidding_

_Anyway, here I am still writing. It's stuck in my head now. May as well commit it to computer before it fades away!_

_If you are reading this, enjoy!_

**Chapter 5**

The noise of straining steel and concrete was significantly louder the closer Michael drew to the wheel. By the time he was standing in the shadow underneath it, the air itself seemed to actually vibrate around the shuddering structure, as though sympathising with its struggle to stay aloft. The effect gave voice to a very low, almost creaking moan, which was unsettling to say the least. The shade the enormous wheel provided however, was a welcome break from the heat and dust of the destroyed plaza, which was now covered in a fine haze of dust from the concrete and buildings. He couldn't see what he looked like after being out in it, but he could feel his hair plastered to his forehead, most likely with sweat and, ironically, plaster. His knee was a throbbing ache after his run/jog across the open ground, and it left a warm sticky trail down his left leg, painting his jeans and left shoe a deep red, almost black colour. He could feel the grit and dust in his eyes and hair as well as all over his face and clothes, and wondered, briefly, if he looked like those images of firemen after 9/11, grey shapes so covered in soot and rubble that all you could see clearly were their eyes.

He rubbed his hands on his pants as he climbed the stairs onto the loading platform, scrubbing at them from some absurd desire not to leave marks all over everything. His feet had just landed on the top step though when, in front of him, the white girder making up the bottom curve of the Eye actually seemed to slide outward, the metal restraints designed to hold it in place snapping and bending with a squealing that set his heart hammering even faster. He gripped the railing next to him in a panic, but after barely a second its travel was halted, shuddering to a stop as though it had caught on something. Hesitantly releasing the rail beside him he took a step around some twisted metal rubble, revealing the orange bulk of the Thing holding onto the wheel like he was going to pick it back up single-handedly. Strain was written on his face however, and with a slight groan his shoulders were dragged down by the weight, another screech issuing from above them amidst the twisted metal. A dark shape suddenly seemed to flow upwards from the platform, weaving in and out of the cabling and supporting struts like string, wrapping around the straining hub of the Eye and desperately trying to pull it back into an upright position. That had to be Mr Fantastic.

Even has he seemingly tied himself in unbreakable knots, blue light blossomed across the wheel, like someone had poured glowing blue liquid into a bowl, the surface of it shimmering and rippling, taking some of the strain off the other two already trying to support it. The Invisible Girl? Or was it Invisible Woman now? He really didn't keep track of those sorts of things enough to know for certain. He couldn't see her anywhere but she was obviously around. So where was the Human Torch?

The group of business men he'd observed earlier helping people out of the carriage appeared in front of him, ducking under the slightly swaying bottom of one of the carriages. The mass above them jerked minutely, another small squeal sounding and, looking at each other they quickly hurried off the elevated platform to the ground below. Michael couldn't blame them, he wanted to go himself, but the carriage under which they'd ducked was low enough for the people inside to actually be reached, and, staring out at him he could see the frightened faces inside. Some were banging their fists on the glass screaming at him, though their words were lost through the window and noise. Steeling himself to try and stem the wrenching panic in his gut, he looked down at the grating beneath his feet and ducked below the swaying white beam into the underside of the wheel.

The change from outside was noticeable. Where outside the vibration of the various parts of the disc were dispersed, in here they filled the air with their humming, clanging and squealing. It reminded him somewhat of jumping on a very old, very rusted bed, only magnified a million times. Ahead of him, the Thing was facing the other way, both hands desperately clutching at the steel till he thought he could see handprints indented in it. It was a somewhat humbling sight to see, as the fate of this entire creation rested in those now seemingly too small hands. The calls of Mr Fantastic could be heard coming from somewhere above, calling out for the Torch to assist him. He could see the black/blue strands twisted everywhere amongst the steel, bathed in the slightly blue glow of the Invisible Girl/Woman's forcefield, her own calls coming in from outside trying to find out what was going on.

A smash of breaking glass drew his attention back to his purpose for being there and he turned toward the carriage, intent on lowering the people down to the ground. His eyes instantly fell on the muscular, spandex clothed back of the Human Torch, and just as instantly dropped to the curve of said person's spandex clad ass. He swiftly looked away, embarrassed for thinking of such a thing when lives were at stake, and fought the automatic blush that threatened to flood his face. He supposed in the last couple of years he'd been aware that the youngest member of the Fantastic Four was a pretty hot guy; I mean the entire world knew that. But it was like saying Naomi Campbell was hot, or Brad Pitt was hot. It was a distant sort of attraction, an esoteric remark that was safe to admit to because the person was never going to be there right in front of you. Add to that the fact that he was a young, _gay_ man, and clearly that made the attraction even more unrealistic.

Every famous person had their share of fans and sycophants, superheroes were no different, and although it was the bread and butter of gay popular magazines, no one ever for a moment actually _believed_ the articles about various famous people being caught in gay moments. Certainly not the straight as an arrow Human Torch. God, compared to him Spiderman was a flaming queen.

The clunk of a piece of debris hitting the grating beside him reminded him that he was still standing there, not quite staring at the man's ass. He was just about to say something, no doubt inane and stupid sounding, to bring attention to the fact that he was there, when spandex coated muscle moved, stepping toward the nearby carriage. Michael paused for a brief second in puzzlement. Didn't the guy hear his team-mates calling him? He reached out and grabbed the closest arm, the feel of hard muscle and soft spandex lending the Torch a realism that he seemed to be lacking on magazine covers and in the news. Blue grey eyes swivelled to stare first at the hand touching his arm and then up his body to his face, taking in his ragged jeans and shirt, causing embarrassment to fill Michael's head as he thought about how disgusting he must look compared to the clean, utilitarian uniform the Torch was wearing.

Their gazes met across the top of his hand and he swallowed so hard he thought he might actually choke. The guy had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, almost shining with an internal fire and passion. His hand unintentionally gripped the bicep beneath it, and he desperately prayed to anyone who'd listen for him _not_ to blush.

"I'll do it. You have more important things to do." Thankfully his voice did not squeak with nervousness when he spoke, but he released the arm he was holding as though it scalded him, hoping against hope that it hadn't seemed like unnecessarily long. How embarrassing would that be, rendered into a hormonal teenager just standing next to the damn guy. He could almost imagine the whole event recapped in a loud voice for the benefit of some half drunk floozy and her friends in a bar somewhere. He desperately wished that there were no photographers or news crews filming this event, or he'd never be able to set foot in civilised society again.

The blue eyes flickered almost imperceptibly toward the spot on his arm that had been released and then back, then away from his face, the tanned cheeks turning slightly darker in what Michael took for embarrassment. The guy even _blushed_ hot. Shit, had he noticed the way he'd stared? Or the way he'd gripped his arm? A second ticked by and it seemed that he had. A slightly sick expression crossed the Human Torch's face and he almost grimaced with what seemed disgust. In spite of this, Michael knew that he was needed elsewhere, so he gently grabbed his arm again with a very slight shake.

"Hey are you ok man?" He tried to make sure his voice sounded like nothing more than friendly concern. There was no point making himself look like an even bigger idiot than he already did. The response was almost immediate. The guy looked like he was going to be violently ill, and swiftly jerked his arm out of reach, turning slightly away so they weren't quite so front on to each other.

"Don't touch me." It was said harshly; almost a verbal slap in the face. The underlying tone clearly told how disgusted the man was at the moment, and Michael felt hurt and surprised, in spite of the fact that he really shouldn't have been. This was straight-as-an-arrow Johnny Storm here. Still he hadn't been expecting hugs and kisses, just some human decency. It was hard not to see superheroes as somehow above petty human issues like discrimination, but he supposed it was just as easy for Johnny Storm to be afraid of gay people as it was a football player in a club. Maybe even easier. With such a precarious public image to maintain, balanced between being the populations heroes and their devils, it was probably even more important for him to preserve his straight man persona. Still, the open disgust was hard to ignore. He dropped the arm to his side from where it had been left hovering in mid-air.

"Ok. Sure man. You'd better get going." He didn't want to hang around and see any more of the famous Human Torch today, or risk being the recipient of some pent up anger or malice; so he turned and headed off to the dangling carriage, feeling the heat coming from the other man as he passed by. An older gentleman was just finishing smashing out the window about 10 feet up, the shards of glass falling through the grate underfoot, thankfully out of the way. He thought he could feel an intense stare directed at his back with almost a burning sensation, and crossed his fingers that he wasn't suddenly going to get beat up now of all times, and by the Human Torch of all people.

A pair of very young feet abruptly appeared in front of him, thankfully distracting him from further thoughts of violence and he grabbed the little girl around the waist. Above him the old man let go and he took the weight, trying to put most of it on his uninjured leg. When he placed her carefully on the ground he struggled to let go of her as she clung to his shirt, and no sooner did he wrestle that free than she grabbed hold of his belt with one hand and refused to release it. Another pair of feet were in front of him then, these belonging to a slightly older girl, probably in her mid-teens by the look of it. She was substantially heavier, and as he took her weight he stumbled slightly, just managing to save himself and the girl by falling backwards, allowing her to drop on top of him, the small girl tumbling with them.

He was just getting back to his feet, the two girls going down the stairs to the plaza, when another explosion seemed to blast the river apart. Water sluiced across everything, the carriage above him, the grating underfoot, and himself as well. Small specks of mud and stone were flung around also, clinging like limpets to everything they touched, coating everything with a slippery brown layer. He struggled to stand up, one hand grabbing a slimed railing for support, staring out at the river as a strange silver man floated out of the turmoil beneath him. Mist hovered across the area from vaporised water, while the vortex proceeded to resume sucking the entirety of the river into the earth.

He stood there stunned, staring out at the scene that was materialising, along with people along both banks of the river, and even those in the carriage above him.

Heat suddenly bloomed not 3 meters away, as the Human Torch lived up to his namesake and lit up like something from Dante's Inferno. The water on the surfaces around him turned to steam in moments, the paint underneath cracking like drying mud. It seemed the cries coming from Mr Fantastic above them intensified then, telling Johnny to stop and help him, but his pleas evidently fell on deaf ears and the Human Torch shot away, leaving the rest of them standing there underneath the collapsing structure.

It seemed to Michael then that the reality of the situation finally sank in. Something wasn't just wrong with the building, something was wrong with the Four as well, and there was a sense of dread as he realised they weren't going to get it together in time to fix this. There were still 5 more people in the carriage just above him, but there were maybe a couple of hundred in total still trapped aboard, too high to reach, who had no chance of escape at all. Urgency flared anew within him and he quickly gestured to the old man to lower the next person down, an old lady this time, probably the man's wife by the look of it. She seemed a bit dazed when she finally touched the ground, a large lump on her forehead stood out from the pale flesh around it, forcing him to waste precious seconds as he guided her to the stairs, the two girls grabbing her hands from there and pulling her away.

He cleared the stairs in a couple of bounds after making sure they were safe, ducking under the ring just as the Thing grunted in pain and called out that he was losing it, the lowermost carriage hitting the ground with a crunch of grinding steel. A sound like gunshots filled the air a second later as the windows exploded outwards from the pressure, splintering into deadly projectiles that luckily didn't reach anyone. The car he had been assisting was now only a metre off the ground and the remaining occupants swiftly leapt out, hitting the ground at a run as they flew past him. He watched them until they cleared the ring of men before it occurred to him that he too should be fleeing the area.

He ducked back under the edge yet again, now almost to the floor, and jumped over the railing to the plaza below, rolling as he landed on his good leg then standing back up. Around him, it appeared that even the army had their breaking point, and the men were swiftly backing away from the now dangerously swaying Eye toward their helicopters, lead by the black General in a backwards trot.

Michael tried to get away as fast as he could, his injured leg making it more of a pained hobble, but at least faster than walking. Behind and above him a now familiar twang announced the snapping of another suspension cable, the whoosh of air across his back telling him that it had probably been nearby. A second after that there was the rending screech of metal separating and as he looked up over his shoulder he saw one of the higher cars peel away from the superstructure, plummeting toward him like a stone. He couldn't move then, standing there with his mouth open like a stunned mullet, unable to comprehend such a large object ever falling from the air.

It was almost like fear and pain bled out of him, leaving him intellectually wondering what being crushed under tons of metal and glass would actually feel like for the split second before he died. Just like in the movies, time seemed to slow to a crawl as the carriage filled his vision. It almost felt like he could reach out and caress it, if only his arms would move. Inside, he could clearly see people, thrown around like rag dolls in a clothes dryer, a form of morbid relief forming that at least he wouldn't die alone. They seemed suspended there, just out of reach, when incredible burning pain suddenly struck him and he blacked out.

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Reed, Sue, Ben, London, Earth, Green eyes. They all seemed to fade out as Johnny caught sight of the surfer hovering there above the centre of the river, serene and unmoved amidst the chaos raging around him. His vision constricted to pinpoints, containing the surfer alone. Reed's frantic cries became only background noise, the danger posed by the teetering Ferris wheel was something trivial to be swept aside by the overwhelming urge to confront the surfer and get whatever had been done to him reversed. To be whole again and not always be fighting with himself, before it could cause real damage. He needed to be _normal_ again, to go out to bars trolling for women who would put out without even needing an effort. To be able to make out with that woman without people calling him 'fag' or 'homo' and trying to beat the shit out of him. He could be happy again. Couldn't he?

The surfer appeared to be aware that he was approaching, seemingly content to wait until he was close enough to talk. Its head was cocked slightly to the side, as you would to a person who you recognised but couldn't put a name to. When they finally hovered only a scant foot apart he found himself staring into the same silver eyes that had haunted his visions and dreams, shuddering at what he had been through because of them. Now that they were there in front of him however, he didn't know how to say exactly what he needed to.

"Conflict and self destruction also seem to be foundations of your race." Rage swelled up in Johnny and he lashed out at the head in front of him, the surfer easily avoiding the blow.

"What did you do to me!?" The head tilted to the side again, as if the answer was so obvious that he didn't quite know how to answer.

"Do?" The flames surrounding Johnny turned into a twisting, writhing pyre as he strained to hold himself back.

"Yes! You did something to me. You messed with my mind and put thoughts and feelings in there that don't belong." The silver expression in front of him didn't change, but a sense of pity seemed to emanate from it, draining some of the anger suffusing his body.

"I did nothing to you. All I did was make you able to see what you were doing to yourself." The deep voice sounded so reasonable that Johnny was tempted to try and hit him again, but instead grit his teeth, voice straining.

"I wasn't doing anything to myself. I was perfectly happy until you came along." Puzzlement seemed to grow on the silver brow, the unblinking eyes staring so deeply into him that he could almost swear the touch of cold silver reached his very heart.

"I do not understand. You did things you did not wish to do in order to please others. You spent time with people who you did not like. Your anger and hatred for yourself turned on others, and you could not see for yourself that it was you who was causing it." The face moved closer, till their noses were almost touching.

"By choosing not to be who you are, you endangered all around you, as you endanger them now." Johnny jerked back, trying to put some distance between them.

"You don't know what you're talking about." The surfer leant back again, turning his board toward the ailing wheel.

"I know what it is like to bring destruction where one does not wish to. I know the horror of being forced to do and be something you were never meant to. I above all other creatures in the universe know this lesson better than anyone." A shimmering hand lifted away from him, pointing back toward the destroyed plaza.

"But unlike my suffering, which brings life to my people, your attempt to deny who you truly are causes you to abandon those who mean most to you so you can satisfy your own selfish demands." The majority of what the surfer said made no sense to him, obviously a reference to his reason for being there or his past. His eyes were drawn to follow the pointing silver limb however, and from their elevated position the lean of the Eye was immediately obvious. The hub seemed dangerously far from the support structure, stretching Reed's body surely as far as he could reach, and widening each second that ticked by. He thought again of the numerous times he'd stumbled home too wasted and sick to even make it to the bathroom before vomiting. He remembered the disappointed look on Sue's face as she patiently wiped his sweating forehead as he leant over the porcelain bowl. The faces of all the women he had ever had and then told he'd see them again flashed before him. He had sowed nothing but discord for what seemed an eternity.

"Yes. Now you begin to see." The voice was incredibly close beside his ear, the surfer having slid up behind him as his attention was focussed beneath them.

"It does not matter what your society thinks of you. It does not matter if people see you differently. At the end of each day, when you are alone with your thoughts, all that will matter is that you can look at yourself without hating what you see." It seemed to resonate directly into his mind, such a toneless and emotionless voice, the words seemed to carry more impact than if they had been screamed in his face by a $200 an hour psychiatrist. His drinking and partying took on a whole new light when he looked at it under the surfers gaze, going from being a healthy and social activity to a sinister attempt to escape a life that wasn't working.

"And now you must make a hard decision, as I have had to. I can restore to you what I took away, but you will lose your powers just as you did before. By the time it returns, this," he gestured down to the unfolding scene, "will all be over. Your friends will probably survive, but most of those they are trying to save will not." An image of the torn and dirty green eyed boy, crushed underneath the tons of steel and concrete, seemed sickeningly clear to his minds eye. A cold silver hand touched his shoulder blade through the flames, the surfer fluidly flowing around him till they were once again eye to eye.

"But you will be back to how you were, and the person you were would probably not be that concerned for their deaths, or at worst would simply drink till he couldn't remember them anymore." Johnny felt the tension within him finally settle as the hard truth was laid out before him, reduced to the most basic fact. In order to go back to how he was he would need to give up feeling again, no matter how tormented the emotions made him. He almost thought he felt approval coming from the silver being in front of him, and then with a flash he was left alone, making no attempt to stop the departing alien. Instead he stared at the scene below.

He could see the people on the ground fleeing before the disintegrating disc, one form in particular drawing his attention as it hobbled awkwardly away across the pavement. The sun was getting lower in the sky and the shadow thrown by the Eye almost seemed to reach menacing fingers towards the boy. He looked back over his shoulder as a horrendous squeal came from one of the carriages towards the top and seemed to freeze, cemented in place as the car casually appeared to almost roll off the circle, falling towards him as it came loose. There was no way he'd be able to get out from underneath it in time, even if he didn't appear to be trapped by fear or injury.

Johnny didn't know if it was guilt about being so rude to him earlier, the way those green eyes had stared at him, or the way that hand had felt so warm and smooth against his arm, but before he knew it Johnny was plummeting flat out in a dive towards the ground, trying desperately to outrun gravity and the falling mass of steel. He thought he saw people inside the tumbling booth as he flashed past in less than a second but his eyes were only for one person now and as he pulled up at the last moment he could feel the approaching impact like a physical sensation. He sped, level across the ground for the couple of metres that still separated them, then, flaming off hopefully before he made contact, he wrapped an arm around the other boy and cradled him against his chest. His forward momentum yanked the youth off his feet and Johnny curled around him as they hit the ground and rolled; one arm behind the black haired head as the hard concrete cut and scraped away at his suit and his flesh.

A second later an enormous crash sounded behind them, the ground shaking and shrapnel bouncing off Johnny's back as he lay protectively over the unconscious form below him until the shaking stopped. He eventually lifted himself up onto his elbows, checking the still body to make sure it seemed intact before turning to look behind him. A mass of twisted steel and shattered glass greeted his eyes, not even remotely resembling the carriage it had been beforehand, and he staggered to his feet, hissing as his body informed him he'd been injured. As he looked down he could see a large tear in the fabric of his suit from the left shoulder to the centre of his chest, an equally sized cut underneath it. Numerous other small tears covered the suit from top to bottom, none seemed too bad though and he gingerly probed around his chest and stomach with his fingers to see if there was any serious pain.

A cry from Reed stopped his self diagnosis as he remembered there were still other people in danger that needed his help. For some reason he felt a reluctance to leave the unconscious black haired man, but, making sure there was nothing else nearby that could potentially harm him after he'd just saved him, he flamed on and flew up to where the numerous strands of Reed intersected at the hub of the wheel.

It was immediately obvious what the older man needed him to do. He flew down to where Ben and Sue were struggling to stop the wheel from falling over.

"You need to lift it up one more time." He gestured with his hand to emphasise the point.

"I'll weld them together." Sue nodded and Ben grunted to show he'd heard as Johnny shot back up to make sure he was ready when they did it. He heard a grunt of effort that was clearly Ben as Reed used the last of his strength to make sure they lined up properly as they lifted. When the two metal parts squeeled against each other, close enough to the original position for their purposes Johnny concentrated and projected the fire out from his hands. It blasted against the steel joining, the paint blistering and flaking off, revealing the grey metal underneath. A minute after that the metal was glowing bright red and starting to slag, merging the two separate parts into one seamless whole, cooling swiftly as he let the flames dissipate and then turned it around, drawing the heat out of the metal till it was as solid as if it had been forged that way.

Johnny let out a breath with a relieved sigh, Reed slipping back towards the ground with a weariness that told just how much effort it had taken to stretch so much and for so long. As he slowly descended back to earth he saw Ben carrying an exhausted Sue out into the plaza, away from the much worse for wear Eye and into the warm sunlight. As soon as his feet hit the ground he flamed off, groaning as he abruptly remembered he was injured, and the many small cuts and bruises flared with pain.

His eyes fell upon the still unmoving form of the boy who'd spoken to him just before the surfer appeared and he managed to summon the energy to jog over. An urge to apologise hovered above his head, merging with a not yet comfortable surge of attraction that still set off warning bells in his mind. When he got there he knelt down next to him, turning the boy onto his back with a gentleness he didn't know he had.

His mouth was already starting to form the words to ask if the young man was alright and hopefully, bring him to wakefulness. However when the form slumped over onto its back he saw exactly what he'd done as he'd pulled him out of the way of the crushing carriage. Across the boy's chest his shirt suddenly ended with charred edges, revealing mostly smooth, slightly tanned skin. One pectoral however was not so smooth, the skin blistering and burnt severely enough that it would definitely scar. The burning was localised just to the upper part of the pectoral muscle, the nipple below it unmarked. The area was swollen with the burn, weeping clear liquid and some blood from the wound, but the shape of Johnny's hand could still clearly be seen. A blush darkened his face as he realised he was staring at the naked chest in front of him, and he felt a stab of shame as he realised this boy would carry the mark of his hand for the rest of his life. A spark of tenderness ignited somewhere around his chest and he gently brushed the black hair out of the closed eyes, fingers lingering for perhaps a second too long on the slightly hollow cheek as he tucked the hair behind one ear. From there his hand slid further around and behind the slim neck, his other arm lifting underneath the jean clad legs, picking the much lighter boy up and taking him away from the wreckage, encased in which he knew were the bodies of those unfortunates he'd seen trapped inside. Nearby, at the edge of the plaza, he could already see ambulances arriving to tend to the dead and wounded, so he headed towards the flashing lights and uniformed men.

He'd sit through the chewing out he was due to get from Reed after he'd made sure the youth in his arms was alright.

_Fin_


	6. Chapter 6

**Firey Rebirth**

_Ok :) sorry for the delay with this chapter. I got consumed by another fandom… Curse the last few months and their fantastic movies! ;)_

_Thanks to the people who reviewed the last chapter. Was great to hear from you._

_Here in all it's (not) glory is the next chapter. Hopefully we should see some actual interaction._

**Chapter 6**

"No." Johnny froze with his hand on the hotel room door, one arm half through the sleeve of the jacket he was attempting to pull on. He turned to face Reed, slipping the coat on in defiance and zipping it up. Underneath he was still wearing just his shredded uniform, trackpants thrown hastily over the bottom while the jacket was to hide the tears across the top.

"What do you mean 'no'?" He looked down from the team's unofficial 'leader' to where Sue and Ben were both sitting on couches. His sister was rubbing her forehead gently with one hand while the other was cradling a glass of fizzing aspirin. Ben stretched his arms to try and ease the pain. It had not been a good day.

"I mean Johnny that you're not going out right now. We haven't finished discussing what happened today." His hand tightened on the door knob and his eyes narrowed with defiance.

"We've discussed everything we need to Reed. I screwed up, I get it, I understand. How many times do you want to go over this?" He tried to open the door but an elastic arm was suddenly holding it firmly in place. The old Johnny probably would have flicked some flame at the older man to get him to let go, but new Johnny didn't want to bring anymore down on him than was already there.

"Seventy nine dead Johnny, one hundred and twenty three wounded, fifteen critically, and eleven people missing. Add to that, millions of dollars of damage, and the fact that the Surfer _still_ got away and achieved what he came here to do." The voice grew softer then, the hand dropping to not quite touch his shoulder.

"Sit down please Johnny." For a second he thought about doing what he was told and sitting back down. They'd been going over this since the incident had been wrapped up, almost five hours ago. He'd deliberately glossed over his reports, hinting and evading rather than stating the truth. Luckily no one had been able to really pay attention to how long he'd spoken to the surfer, and they'd definitely been too far away to be heard. The fact that the silver alien had so thoroughly beaten him the first time also helped add credibility to his story when he said he'd been unable to stop him. And now he was dirty, bloody and tired, and all he really wanted to do was shower and then sleep until he couldn't sleep anymore. That had been his plan at any rate, but every time he contemplated it an image of green eyes filled his thoughts and he flexed his right hand in reflex, as though the smell of the boy's seared flesh had somehow melded into his skin. His conscience just wouldn't release him. Not until he'd been to the hospital and made sure his victim was ok. Guilt wracked him over his actions, not helped by his reliving of the event for the past five hours in their little discussion group, and trying desperately to explain himself as the General had screamed in his face. It seemed that the surfer had yet again pegged him accurately.

"_you endangered all around you, as you endanger them now."_

Ironically the General had used almost those exact same words, and even though Reed had stepped in and covered for him in true Mr Fantastic style, deep down he knew it had been true. All of it. He'd been so intent on revenge upon the surfer for what had happened that he had caused the deaths of most of those people, and the injuries of dozens more.

A minute, that's all it had been, one minute he'd spoken to the surfer before he realised the truth. One minute Reed had shouted to him for help. One minute while the unknown guy had helped people out of that carriage. One minute when the stress had been too much for that single elevated car and snapped it off. Five seconds for it to plummet to earth. One second for him to scar the other boy for a lifetime.

It had all happened so quickly, even though at the time it had seemed to stretch like an eternity. He could still see the people in that carriage as he passed them while falling, probably barely even having time to realise what had happened to them before it was all over. At the time there was nothing he could have done for them. He might have had the power of flight but he didn't have Ben's strength to hold it up. He would have been crushed also. But if he'd acted faster, maybe it wouldn't have happened at all. If he'd gone when Reed called him he might have saved, how many? Twenty? And another innocent wouldn't be carrying his mark around like a brand.

He couldn't stay here and do it again; he was already torturing himself enough as it was. He didn't understand half of the emotions and thoughts that filled him anymore, his motives murky and unclear even to him. All he knew was that he had to leave.

"I'm sorry Reed. I can't." It was more of a sob than a spoken sentence, raw emotion that must have spoken volumes for his mental state. He was out the door before he could see their reaction though, passing by the elevator and taking the fire escape three or four steps at a time, his uniform boots thudding against the concrete stairs. He thought he heard a voice call his name into the stairwell, but then he burst through the metal door and was on the street, blending into the anonymous sea of humanity passing by. He could feel wet tears on his face, people staring at him with questioning looks, and he hurriedly ducked into the shadowed alcove of a building entrance to hide. He was a mess. His ratty jacket and tracksuit pants didn't blend in with the trendy jeans and suits that filled the London street, and on top of that he had no idea where he was going.

He sank down to sit on the stoop, head in his hands and shivering, though not from the cold. He had screwed up everything so badly this time, and he didn't know how he could go about fixing it either. He couldn't go back to the way things were, the surfer had shown him that, but he didn't know how to be who this new person was. This new Johnny Storm was a stranger to him, a man who didn't understand his own emotions or mind, who cried for no reason, and felt sadness and guilt with a depth that only heavy drinking had ever brought him to before. It was like a blind person, stumbling and clawing, desperate to see the sun, only to emerge from darkness and have its brilliance burn him. He could see so many things with a clarity that surprised him, and others that had previously been clear were now hidden.

And in that way, it also offered him hope. It was a chance to patch things up with Sue, to be the brother he always wanted to be but fell short of. It gave him the opportunity to be a friend and team mate to Reed and Ben, a task he had been sorely lacking at lately, and maybe, he could be a role model worth emulating now, to the fans that followed them. That could be his future if he was willing to embrace it, a way to make the world better in a way that mattered. Not in the esoteric way that Greenpeace helped the earth, but real, on the ground benefits that made people safer. It was a little humbling to wonder if this was how the rest of his team, and the countless other heroes, had felt all along. Did Spiderman feel a sense of accomplishment when he stopped a mugger or helped the police? Did Captain America look around at the people and know that they were better off because he was there? When Reed and Sue stood on the balcony and gazed out across the city, were they aware that they had made a difference?

He wanted to know that feeling again, that brief surge of protectiveness as he'd snatched that boy from underneath the falling carriage, the knowledge that he had saved his life. Certainly he'd injured him in the process, and he felt a pang of guilt that he didn't think would ever leave him for that, but the young man would live. That was why the others did what they did, and now that could be his reason too, his answer to the question of _why_ he should continue fighting. But now he needed to know exactly _what_ he was fighting _for_. The old Johnny wouldn't have cared, would have done it for the thrills and the glory. But as he was increasingly becoming aware, the old Johnny was dead, and new Johnny could make his life whatever he wanted it to be.

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Michael woke up to the bright, glaring whiteness that only fluorescent tubes can really provide. It was an artificial light, lacking the warmth and glow of the sun, a brightness that signified mankind's increasing independence from the natural world that surrounded him. The purity of the light flooded the equally as white room, the walls nothing but an antiseptic shade that seemed to blur and make the corners hard to distinguish, a feat only ruined by the window on one side and the light pink door on the other. Beneath and over him lay more whiteness, stiff starchy sheets that were harsh against his skin, a starchy sensation that seemed to only occur in hotels and hospitals. He lay there perfectly still for several moments as his mind played catch-up, trying to understand how he arrived in his present location. He tried to sit up so he could take a better look around, but excruciating pain tore through his chest, like someone had torn his skin off and left his chest muscles exposed to the air. A million other small aches and pains also appeared, a particularly bad throb was centred on his left knee, and as he lifted his left hand to peer under the sheet the movement was slowed by the presence of needles and tubes imbedded just below his wrist.

His eyes widened as he realised exactly where he was and started to remember what had happened, and he looked desperately around the small hospital room for a clue as to how he'd got there. All he remembered was the pain, and the image of the carriage hurtling towards him, a shadowy shape against the bright sky.

Ignoring the pull of the needles, he carefully lifted the stiff sheet off his body, attempting to see the extent of his injuries. Surely such a weight crashing into him should have killed him, crushing him to a bloody smear on the pavement, but beneath the covers he seemed mostly intact. His chest and stomach were bare of clothes; he was wearing only a pair of loose cotton boxer shorts, the doctors obviously forgoing the gown in order to facilitate ease of access. A large bandage covered the left side of his chest, strapped around his back and shoulder; the bandage turned that slightly off white, yellow colour that indicated the presence of a weeping wound beneath. Another large bandage was bunched around his knee, wrapped so tightly that he couldn't move the joint at all, which was no doubt the point of such precautions. Apart from the two, apparently, major wounds, only small scrapes and bruises painted his flesh, the effect almost straight from a Picasso. He dropped the material and let it drape back across him.

He wondered if his parents had been informed, usually that was what hospitals did, but he wasn't sure he'd had any of his ID on him at the time. His passport was safely secured back at his room, they always told you not to carry it round in case you were pick pocketed. Of course no doubt his parents were aware of the incident, it would have been headline news, and with the Fantastic Four involved, tabloid news as well. They might have even been trying to contact him while he slept. Tickets were probably being booked even as he lay here, or, depending how long he'd been out, they could already be on their way.

His eyes darted over to the window where only faint scarlet rays illuminated the skyline, the clock beside his bed indicating it was 7pm. But 7pm on what day? Was it still the same one, or had he been out for over 24 hours? He needed to find out and get to a phone where he could get in touch with his mum before she went into an absolute panic. The white room seemed devoid of such modern essentials as a telephone however, and of his clothes and mobile phone there was no sign.

He slowly propped himself up on his elbows and attempted to slide his bandaged leg off the side of the bed, unable to bend it, the whole limb moving as though it had been plastered in place. The tiles were cold beneath his foot, the skin taking a minute to adjust after the relative warmth under the blankets. He moved his left hand over to the bedside table, using it as leverage to gradually stand in an upright position, his good leg automatically attempting to take most of the weight, his injured one stuck slightly out to the side. By the time he was able to stand without the support of the bed his chest throbbed with his exertions, and a sting beneath his chest bandage made him think he'd somehow torn it open. He didn't remember getting it while he was conscious, so he had no idea what sort of injury it was, and there'd be no way to know how damaged he'd made it until the bandage came off. A feat he definitely wasn't going to attempt himself. He couldn't even bring himself to look at the needles that were piercing his skin, let alone wonder about the gruesome nature of his wound.

The IV drip did remind him that he had to take that with him however, so his next item of support was the metal pole that held the bags aloft, the wheeled stand serving as a makeshift crutch as he slowly limped towards the door. Beyond it he could hear the faint sounds of general hospital activity, pagers were beeping, people were bustling past, phones ringing and voices calling back and forth demanding items or assistance. He stopped before the light pink timber and drew in a few deep breaths, the short hobble tiring him out to a degree that would have embarrassed even a toddler. He finally raised his right hand to the latch, turning it and tugging on the door. It was heavy and the automatic closer at the top resisted his efforts with a ferocity that threatened to be beyond him at the moment, forcing him to stand slightly sideways and pull until a crack was visible. The light from the corridor was the same white of his room, and he stuck his right hand into the gap, pushing against the door to open it the rest of the way. He stumbled around the edge as it swung past his face, but it caught the wheeled base of his drip, the pole tipping towards him and throwing him off balance. He tried to turn back to the room and catch it but his good leg gave out beneath him and he felt himself toppling over backwards, arms stretched out to try and grab the door frame before he could collide with the hard floor.

The anticipated impact never came however, hot silkiness brushing his skin rather than cold tile. A hand slid almost in slow motion across his abdomen from behind, another looping under his right arm and pressing against the uninjured side of his chest, preventing his fall and holding him pressed tightly against what felt like a very taut physique. Time returned to normal as they ended up almost in a parody of a lover's embrace, heated breath tickling along his neck and collarbone.

"Jesus man. Are you sure you should be walking around?" The voice sent shivers through him, the touch only adding to those as his stomach clenched at the feel of warm flesh. The blush was unavoidable, and he wished he wouldn't have to turn around and face his saviour, and probably have his face read like an open book. He remembered the harsh words that voice had spat at him beneath the Eye, the disgusted looks that had been directed towards his very touch. In spite of that however, a part of him swooned like a teenage girl at the contact, not needing to see the man in order to know he was being held by one of the hottest guys on earth. Literally. A thousand fantasy's sprouted, grew, bloomed, and died in the second he was held, wondering if the Torch even remembered who he was, or would have deigned to notice him if he had. The hands cautiously released him however, his fantasies dispelled like smoke, the fingertips retracing their delicate trail across his skin and setting him shivering all over again, as he attempted to support his own weight.

"Probably not, but thank you." His voice was a little croaky as he answered the question that seemed to have been asked an eternity ago, and as he slowly stepped away from the warmth at his back he nervously cleared his throat. He carefully turned around to face his rescuer, his eyes firmly trained on the ground, desperate not to blush and humiliate himself further in front of the super powered boy. He'd already acted like a love smitten idiot once today, well he thought it was still today, and he didn't need to do it again. Especially not somewhere full of people and cameras that could see every moment of it.

Instead he let his eyes rest on the tracksuit pants in front of him, the worn and rather ratty garment appearing innocent enough. Sticking through the bottom of them though, he could clearly see that the boots were not run of the mill, the almost lycra-like look of them only marred by dust that he doubted had come from the hospital. They only confirmed the truth of his situation. Once again he was standing in front of the Human Torch, Johnny Storm, and was as bad as a drooling fan salivating over an autograph and a pinup poster.

He didn't know what would be worse for his ego, if the hero before him recognised him from their encounter and derided him for it, or if he didn't remember him at all.

"You know I almost didn't recognise you for a second there. I mean I never found out your name and without the dirt and blood you're a whole different person." It hadn't been either of the two outcomes he'd prepared for; it was light, jovial, and comradely. Involuntarily his eyes flew up to the face before him, the bright blue eyes shining with amusement only a foot from his own. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, the pessimist in him waiting desperately for the other shoe to drop, and the unexpected punch to come out of left field. Instead they just stood there for a few brief seconds, neither saying anything as they looked at each other. Eventually the awkwardness got to him however, intensified by the knowledge that he was gazing into the man's eyes like a lovesick puppy, and he flinched and dropped his view back to the floor.

There was only one conclusion that Michael could reach about the other man, and that was that the publicity material he'd seen and read about Johnny Storm had nothing on the real thing. Even dirty, sweaty and slightly bloody, dressed in clothes that could have come straight from a donation box, he exuded charm and sex as easily and naturally as others breathed the air. Being this close to him, feeling the heat that seemed to emanate from him was almost enough to cause anyone to go weak at the knees. Yet there was fragility to him as well, a slight smear of the dirt on his cheeks hinted at tears that were now dry, the fact that he was dirty and obviously hadn't had a chance to clean up after the incident giving him an innocence and naivety that made Michael want to comfort him like a child.

He wanted to hit himself for the comparison as soon as his mind made it, knowing that every girl who ever looked at the Torch probably thought they saw the same thing. Everyone always saw what they wanted to see, and who wouldn't want Johnny Storm to look at them that way? Especially an awkward young gay nobody from nowheresville. Hell, the number of people the guy got mobbed with every time he set foot in the street probably outnumbered the population of Michael's hometown, and he'd be willing to bet that the love letters and marriage proposals received could sink the Titanic. He'd seen the articles, read the scandals and glanced at the pictures. He'd seen the constant parade of girls that changed in every photograph and knew his fantasies were simply that, the proximity just had him thinking like one of those damn fringe journalists that tried to create a story where there wasn't one.

And he was only now remembering that he was standing there like a mute idiot, flushed and nervous, wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of hospital boxers. He felt exposed before those eyes, and though he wasn't overly embarrassed by his body it was certainly inadequate compared to the one before him and he was sure by now that his thoughts and imaginings had been well and truly exposed. The guy knew how hot he was; he could probably read infatuation a mile away. He wondered if maybe the whole thing was all a game, like dangling a sandwich before a starving man, trying to get him to reach for it, only to snatch it away at the last moment. It seemed like that sort of thing the man in the magazine articles would do. Playboy, show off, dangerous. They'd all labelled him those at different times. Taunting an injured gay boy didn't seem like too much of a stretch really. God if he took the bait it'd probably be all over tomorrows paper, well right below the section on the disaster of course. The kind and friendly side he was seeing simply didn't match with the image. Not to mention the revulsion that had been clearly evident in his eyes when they'd first met, when he'd laid his hand on him.

"You ok man? You really don't look too good. Maybe I should get you into bed." The innocent words were so quickly twisted in his head, serving to both arouse and embarrass him.

"I think I can manage fine by myself thanks." He really hadn't meant the words to come out so coldly, even if his doubts were well founded it was no cause to be rude. The blue eyes dimmed slightly at his words, the other man's face finally turning slightly away from him.

"Yeah ok, sure. I was just…" He watched the chest rise as a calming breath was drawn in, the jacket doing little to hide the swell of muscle underneath.

"I came to apologise." The puzzlement he felt must have been clearly evident across his face.

"To you. I came to apologise to you. I didn't mean to treat you the way I did when we met earlier. I've just had a lot to deal with over the last couple of days and you were a," his voice was getting softer in the crowded hallway, "complication, in that." For a brief moment sincerity and openness shone across blue orbs, and Michael had to fight the urge to comfort him or just do whatever the super powered man wanted him to.

"I shouldn't have taken it out on you, and I wasn't angry or upset about anything to do with you, only myself. I'm not coping very well." The eyes slid to the bandage covering his chest and he watched as Storm clenched his right fist.

"And I'm sorry about that. I really didn't mean to, but there wasn't enough time and I thought I'd flamed off before I touched you." It started to clear up in his mind then, the reason for the visit. Guilt. And pity. It was even worse than if it had been a prank. At least a joke implies that the person has some regard for you, or they wouldn't bother even doing it. But guilt could be felt for anyone, anything. Hell people apologised to their dogs if they accidentally stepped on their tail, and they pitied things they considered beneath them. It threatened to bring down every precarious thought that currently supported him. But a curious sensation had begun to worm its way into his stomach, squeezing and churning it into a frenzy.

Beneath the bandage, the Human Torch had touched him and saved his life. And he had noticed enough to bother tracking him down. He was surprised to feel a faint hint of a smile actually touch his lips at that thought, and he was sure his eyes were a little brighter. He reached a hand forward unconsciously, to touch the other boy's bicep in understanding, but stopped as the muscle seemed to tense before he reached it, and he remembered the reaction from last time. Instead he continued the movement across to his other arm, rubbing it as though warming it from a chill.

"No worries man, it's fine really. Better than being squashed right?" And it definitely was. And besides, a small part of him actually thrilled to know that the perfect Johnny Storm had left a mark on him. That the man before him would always be with him in some way now, the proof never out of sight or mind. Sure it wasn't healthy, in fact it probably bordered on something clinical, but he'd known ever since high school that he was never going to have a 'normal' life. What was one more piece of weirdness?

He was surprised when sudden warmth shrouded his shoulders, looking up sharply and coming face to face with the sleek lines of the Fantastic Four uniform, torn and dirty, but every curve still hugged as tightly as ever. The same arm muscles he'd nearly touched a minute ago now bunched and coiled beneath sleek fabric only inches away, as they circled his neck to drape the worn jacket around him. He didn't know how it happened, whether he'd turned his head or Johnny had moved his hand, but the warm fingers ghosted slowly across his cheek as they withdrew, and he was unable to help it as his eyes slid shut and a small whisper of an exhalation escaped him. He knew he needed to get away before he made an embarrassing spectacle of himself, needed to get back into his room and away from the man in front of him who only caused him to humiliate himself further. His hand was already resting on the door knob while his mouth formed the poor excuses and apologies that would make his escape possible.

All thoughts disappeared however in an instant, as soft yet powerfully intense lips pressed hesitantly against his.

_Fin_


	7. Chapter 7

**Firey Rebirth**

_Ok :) I think now that my fandom love is evening out again I'll start writing a chapter of each of my fics. This will probably mean I'll post a new chapter ever 3 or 4 days._

_Assuming all goes to plan._

_This chapter's dedicated to DeMarcos ;) for forgetting that you were waiting on this fic as well lol._

**Chapter 7**

He was going to faint, at least he thought he was. He'd never fainted before and so had no idea what it was supposed to feel like, but he was certain it had to be something like this. His legs, well the good one at least, trembled beneath his weight and he seemed to lose control over his muscles as he became light headed. He was going to collapse, but for some reason he couldn't get his hands up to grab anything to stop him. It seemed his body didn't dare make any sort of movement that might stop the wonderfully warm lips that currently moved across his own. Luckily he didn't need to, as burning hands lightly touched his sides, curling around them until they pressed against the small of his back to each side of his spine. The heat was incredibly intense, definitely above a temperature that would probably have been comfortable, but not severe enough to burn.

His eyes flew open at the touches, the slightly wild and uncontrollable panic he was beginning to feel probably visible in them, along with a faint touch of despair. Brilliant blue met his stare, watching his reactions from barely an inch away as a tongue gently swiped across his lips. He did fall then, his body going limp, but the arms held him up, pressed to the lycra torso in front, only his shoulder left without contact. He gasped at the sensation, his head falling back slightly, feeling movement that ended with him pressed against the cool wall behind him, contrasting with the overwhelming heat at the front. The tongue entered his mouth at the tacit permission, and those now almost burning blue eyes slid closed with a flash of something undefinable.

The hands released their grip on him as they slid up his sides, barely ghost like pressure that whispered across his skin, the caress causing him to let out a moan that was audible even through their battling tongues. There was a crash somewhere nearby, and with a start he suddenly remembered exactly where he was and who was doing this to him.

The panic and fear resurged within him, tearing at his control like rabid dogs straining against a leash. With a start he shoved against the firm muscles in Johnny's biceps, his mouth tearing away to the side where his terrified gaze took in a hallway frozen in place like statues. He was sure he didn't have the strength to actually move the other man off him if he didn't wish to leave, but as their mouths parted the Torch seemed to remember exactly what was happening as well. Those hands almost leapt away from his sides and the larger boy took a small step away, allowing Michael to pull the jacket tightly closed around him to hide his obvious arousal.

He felt tears building up, threatening to embarrass him further in front of the collection of hospital staff and patients that crowded the hall, coloured with a throb of anger. He clenched down on them viciously, determined not to let Johnny Storm get that reaction out of him. He wanted to punch the other man at the betrayal. He doubted a punch from him would faze the Human Torch however, and the worst part was that he'd done it to himself. He'd been weak, given in to a stupid idiotic crush based on nothing but physical attraction and information most likely made up of lies from interviews and gossip. He'd vowed he'd never fall for that and yet here he was, acting like a slut in a club that will put out for anyone that buys them a drink.

The first tear slid down his cheek with a tickle, carving a path that he knew more would soon follow. His eyes took in the astonished and shocked faces of those around him, already picturing the thoughts that were running through their heads, and he hurriedly pushed open the door with a shove and stumbled through it into the relative safety of his room. The IV frame was thankfully within reach and once it was inside with him he put his back to the door and slammed it shut, clicking the lock and sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, injured leg stretched out in front of him. He let himself cry then, carefully muffling as many of the sobs as he could, aware that on the other side of the door they could still probably hear him.

He was such a moron, and he slammed the palm of his hand into his forehead in anger repeatedly, hoping the pain would distract him from the fact that eventually he'd have to face the people out there. No doubt rumours were probably already starting to flow. Without the jacket that now covered his shoulders there would have been no mistaking the uniform Johnny wore. Someone was probably already on the phone to the tabloids looking to make some quick money. He didn't understand what game he'd just been the victim of, but he knew he'd lost it. He could already imagine the looks and comments he was going to get about it, the snide remarks and lewd suggestions. 'Whore', 'slut' and 'fag' were only the tips of the iceberg. He'd never be able to meet anyone again without them knowing what just happened, and he'd be labelled as an easy lay faster than he could blink. Not to mention the potential beatings he'd get from straight fans for doing something so disgusting to their hero. No one would believe that it had been the other man who'd started it; no one would believe that he hadn't been trying to seduce him. Everyone would think he had spread his legs like a cheap trick in a back alley, so he could tell everyone he'd slept with Johnny Storm.

That wasn't the worst though. The worst part was that he almost had. He had no doubt that, had the situation been a little different, if someone hadn't dropped whatever it was that woke him up, he'd have done whatever it was the Torch wanted of him. That knowledge shamed him more than any insult he'd get from anyone else. He'd always been more interested in meeting someone that he liked and had a future with than a cheap one night thing. He'd always derided and looked down his nose at those that did, giving away their bodies as though it was a buffet for men to sample from. But now he knew he was as bad as they were.

His parents had always considered him grown up about it, told him they were proud of the fact that he hadn't allowed himself to give in to that scene. They'd had enough difficulty adapting to the fact that their son was gay at first, without him bringing home a different man every night, or disappearing out to clubs and bars dressed like a tramp. Their disappointment would be as sharp and shameful as his own. They wouldn't say it to him of course, they wouldn't judge him for it, and they'd be sympathetic and understanding once he explained it to them, but that knowledge would be there all the same, buried deep down. He'd failed both them and himself, and he somehow felt lessened because of that.

He'd been so careful, so particular with everyone he'd gone out with, a list that only included five people to date. He'd never done the sleeping around, even when he'd been in school, especially since an all boys private college was not the place to announce that you were gay. Like all big secrets the truth had still eventually come out, a final year full of beatings, pranks and torments that more than anything had told him he needed to be careful and discreet. It was a policy he'd continued to cultivate in university, where he'd had his first boyfriend, and had done so well that not even his roommate was quite certain of his sexual orientation.

And now the world would know.

And just like the women he'd seen smeared across the magazine covers, hanging like eye candy off the Human Torch's arms, the world would label him a slut.

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He didn't know why he'd done it really. It had been a spur of the moment thing that had just happened without any real conscious thought. He knew he was attracted to the guy, that had been the reason for his panic and confusion earlier after all, but still it was something of a shock to find himself leaning forward and kissing the other boy. He'd just given him the jacket cos he'd shivered, he was just being polite. Ok so that was a little bit of a lie. He'd felt the softness of that lightly tanned skin under his hands as he'd caught the man when he'd fallen, felt the slight shudder and intake of breath when he'd spoken in the other's ear. He'd wanted to feel that again, a test for himself maybe to see what would happen.

When that slim hand had reached to touch his arm he'd tensed in anticipation, cursing himself mentally when the boy had interpreted it as revulsion or reluctance about his touch. He couldn't blame him, after what had happened earlier. So when the guy had pretended he'd just been going to wrap his arm around himself from the cold he'd taken the opportunity to be both gallant and selfish. It was something of a power trip to know that he could just as easily affect men as well as women, that had he met this man in a bar somewhere he might have easily taken him home. But as he'd pressed his lips against soft, slightly cool ones it had caught him by surprise. The other person was supposed to make the first move, that was how it worked.

He'd seen the attraction there, felt the shivers and seen the blushes and furtive stares. But when he'd brushed his hand across that incredibly soft cheek and heard that bare whisper of a gasp, he'd been lost. He'd felt the effect he had on the boy, felt as his body started to tremble, wrapping his hands around a slim waist to stop him falling. The way brilliant green eyes had shot open to stare into his had undone him again, staring into a colour that seemed to deep and too vibrant to exist in nature.

He'd also seen the panic and the sadness swimming in them, as though their owner didn't want to do this but didn't have the strength to fight it. He'd wanted to drive that look away until there was nothing but lust or arousal, not liking the way it made him feel unsure and nervous about what he was doing. He'd caressing the closed lips with his tongue until they had opened to give him access, the eyes sliding closed and freeing him from the look that made him want to stop and apologise. The body had become almost a dead weight then, a gasp that prompted him to press them back against the solidity of the wall, his hands fluttering with feather touches up slim hips and sides. The moan that flowed forth at his action was almost enough to make him flame on, the sound like a surge of power through his veins, something that he'd never felt with any of the women he'd been with before.

But then everything had gone to hell.

The panic and sadness he'd seen in those moist eyes as the door had been slammed in his face had felt like a knife in his guts. Sure he'd been knocked back before; admittedly not since he'd become the Human Torch, but it was hardly the first time someone had refused him. So then why had it hurt so much? If someone wasn't interested when he'd been at a club he knew there'd be plenty more who were, and since his transformation he didn't even need to go looking, just sit around and wait for them to come to him.

It had been the betrayal though, that look of hurt. As though he'd taken advantage of the other guy and soiled him somehow. He wasn't used to that look. Most women knew he was only going to be a one off thing and they were happy enough with that, something they could brag to their friends about. Some thought maybe they were the one who would capture his heart, but they were quickly disabused of that notion. Women after something more than a one night stand knew better than to come after him, so he'd never run into that situation before.

He wanted to bang his head against the wall in frustration. He'd come here to apologise to the guy for burning him and being rude and instead had only made things a million times worse. He could hear the faint sounds of heavy breathing and hitched breath that indicated crying just on the other side of the door. He raised his hand to knock, hoping he'd somehow be able to talk his way inside so he could apologise yet again, but abruptly became aware of the eerie stillness that filled the corridor. He turned around and noticed the groups of people staring at him as they went about their business. It was like someone had put a sign up at each end of the hall telling people to be quiet so they could come by and gawk at him. He growled softly under his breath and turned down the corridor and stalked away. He wasn't going to make another scene with everyone watching him.

As soon as he turned the corner and was out of sight of most of the people he ducked into an unoccupied room, closing the door behind him and striding over to the window. It was fastened closed with a key but a quick jet of flame slagged the lock and allowed him to slide it open. He leapt up onto the windowsill, trying to count back to the room he needed to get to before jumping out and igniting, his tattered track pants turned to ash. The window he was heading to was securely closed in the same manner as the one he'd emerged from, but another burst of fire melted it just as easily, as well as some of the glass. His hand left dents as he slid it open, the flame that writhed his body making it soft as putty. The boy was staring at him in astonishment as he set down on the floor, the flame disappearing as swiftly as it came.

There was a struggle as the other occupant attempted to get to his feet, seemingly trying to prop himself up with the IV, stand on his injured leg and wipe away the tears on his face at the same time. Johnny went over to help him, but stopped halfway there at the defiant look directed at him from the corner of those eyes.

"I can do it myself thanks. I don't need your _help_, or your pity." The green orbs that seemed to convey every emotion behind them flashed angrily at him.

"Look I didn't come here to cause trouble, I just wanted to talk." His answer at first was a bitter laugh, the other boy finally managing to stand upright on his feet, one hand gripping the door handle while the other had a white knuckled grasp on the metal pole. The jacket he'd placed around those shoulders hung open, only just staying on, the slim but defined body beneath it exposed for his notice.

"So talk then. I'm sure I can't wait to hear what you have to say. Come to tell me how _sorry_ you are for the little gay boy? How _terribly_ you acted and how you'd _love_ to make it all up to me? How it would make you feel _so_ much better if I'd let you buy my dinner?" The sarcasm was so vicious, so biting and full of hatred, that it almost made him flinch.

"And if we just _happened_ to end up back at your place, and just _happened_ to end up in bed together, and you just _happened_ to fuck me, well you'd really feel sorry about that too wouldn't you? I'm sure you'd be absolutely filled with remorse as you notched another mark onto your bedpost." He felt his own anger stir like embers prodded with a poker. His eyes narrowed as his hands curled into fists, not sure however whether the colour rising in his cheeks was from his rage, or the mental images that his mind had conjured at the idea of this man naked on a bed before him.

"Hey look, I know I didn't make the best first, or second, impression, but I came to tell you I'm sorry. That should count for something. I didn't mean for what just happened in the corridor to occur, it's not like I planned it or anything, it was an accident." Green eyes flinched slightly as though they'd been hit, some of the anger leeching out as those still slightly swollen lips curled into a sneer of loathing, surprisingly directed more at the boy rather than himself.

"Yeah I figured that. So does that excuse work on the women you sleep with when you throw them out in the morning?" His eyes must have spat flame towards the guy at his statement, and he stalked angrily across the room as his rage won out over caution. If the guy wanted to play it rude and nasty he could do that to, he was here to be nice; he didn't need to take this shit. His fists were stiff at his sides and he was prepared to verbally tear the other man a new one. As he looked down from his slightly superior height however he saw an overwhelming fear that raged like a storm in those eyes, as the injured boy pressed back against the firmness of the door. A fear that made the shorter man's words tremble.

"Tell me, what's it like to know you can do anything you want? Have anyone you want? And never have to worry about what other people think. Does it make you feel big? Powerful? Important? Are you gonna hit me? I'm sure you'd get away with it, it'd only be my word against yours and who do you think they'd believe? Hell after the display in the hallway every newspaper and magazine in the world will be talking about how I'm the gay boy that tried to seduce the Human Torch. If they could add that I was claiming I'd been hit by him too they'd be screaming about how much money I was trying to extort from you." The guy's eyes kept flicking back and forth between his clenched fists and his face, as though he honestly expected Johnny to hit him. There was something else buried in his eyes and face though that said he felt like he deserved to be hit, wanted Johnny to strike out at him, a guilt that wanted to be punished.

"It's not like any of the shit that gets stirred up is going to stick to you anyway. You're Johnny Storm, member of the worlds most loved supergroup. All it would take would be for Mr Fantastic and your sister to stand beside you and you'd get off without a mark. You could go right back to your womanising and partying, everyone calling you charming and exciting, while I go back home to cries of slut and whore. Hell they're probably already saying that right outside the door. Why don't you make it convincing for them? Give me a black eye, I'm sure the papers would love that." Johnny staggered away from him until his legs hit the room's small bed, needing to put distance back between them, his gaze trapped by anger and agony filled emeralds. The guy was too small to really hurt him, but he suddenly felt afraid of those glittering eyes.

"I'm not going to hit you man. Shit, what sort of guy do you think I am? No one's going to think any of those things about you." That bitter laugh filled the room again, the light brown skin of the exposed abdomen tensing with insincere mirth.

"You have no real idea what it's like being gay in this world, do you? Hell I'd never even seen a credible story that you would ever _look_ at another guy, so I don't think you need to worry much. Most gay men are just as happy to have sex with a complete stranger as look for a relationship. Do you have any concept of what it's like to have your friends and family think you're sleeping with any man with two legs? That you're sucking off the whole school football team because that's what gay boys do? Do you know how hard it was for me to get above that? At work, at home, with friends? To hear people stop talking about their girlfriends or sex when you're in the room because they're embarrassed? Or to read a newspaper story about a gay bathhouse being raided for drugs and then seeing the look on your mother's face as your aunt calls her to point out what her son's lifestyle will lead to? I don't want a quick _fuck_ that I'll never see again, I want someone who's going to be there with me and look after me. Your '_accident_' might be nothing for you, but it will be headline news across the globe within an hour. Chances are I'm gonna get photographed before I leave the hospital by some eager journalist, or they'll dig up my uni photo or passport, and my picture is going to be plastered right there beside yours. Everyone knows your reputation and that your interest burns out within a night or two, and they're going to assume the same thing about me." His eyes dropped away, freeing Johnny from their hold as the hand holding the doorknob tugged the jacket tighter around the guy's bare frame, blocking the stretch of skin from his view. The voice got a little softer, most of the anger vented now, and Johnny hated the dead tone that had replaced it. The desire to comfort the figure in front of him swelled again, a sensation he still didn't completely understand.

"That'll be what everyone remembers about me now. At a party, or a gathering, even friends and relatives, I'll be 'hey, aren't you the guy who slept with Johnny Storm?'" The hand that held the IV trembled slightly as black hair slid in front of the man's face. This time the laugh was tinged with hysteria.

"Why the fuck am I wasting my breath? You know what? Fine, I accept your apology. Thank you for going out of your way to come down here and see me. I'd like you to leave now." The free hand went to reach for the lock but Johnny crossed the room in two steps, seizing the arm and pulling it away from the door. He gently raised his left hand until he could rest it against a smooth left cheek, the face still turned away from him and hidden behind a curtain of hair. He softly turned it towards him until their eyes met.

"Look, I know I don't exactly have the best reputation, I had a _lot_ of problems. And I understand completely that you want me to leave you alone, but please believe me. What happened out there was not a joke, it was not a publicity thing, and I did not do it in order to try and seduce you. I went through something recently that showed me just how screwed up my life was and, well, I'm trying to change that. I'd never have forced myself on you." The muscles in the arm he was holding tensed at his words and he saw pink climb the other boy's cheeks as the final traces of anger drained away.

"You wouldn't have had to. That's the problem. For all my talk about wanting to be above that, I still would have let you do whatever you wanted with me. And I hate myself for that." There was a moment of silence as Johnny tried to come up with something to say to that statement, but the other man beat him to it. His voice was almost wistful and his shoulders slumped slightly against the door.

"I don't suppose you'd understand really, and that's ok, it's just who you are. But for me it's the idea of wanting to be with someone special. I don't care about the sex; I'm not interested in just getting off. I want to meet a guy who really wants me, for more than just the physical things. I guess I just wanted to see things in you that I knew they weren't there." Johnny felt his heart speed up a little bit at the thought of having someone want him in that way. He knew that he had legions of adoring fans that drooled over him and wrote him love letters, and no doubt some of them really wanted him as a person not just as a sex symbol or wet dream. But they hadn't been at the London Eye, helping strangers out of a carriage, or touching his arm and somehow making him feel again, even if he hadn't been ready to at the time. And there was something about the way the surfer had seemed to approve of this boy who had been about to die below, almost as if the whole scene had somehow been set up in order to make it necessary to save him. The green eyes looked away uncomfortably at his penetrating stare, obviously wondering why he didn't respond to the comments, the voice downcast as though he thought he'd said something wrong.

"I'm sorry I caused a scene, but like I said, no one will blame you for it. They'll probably just assume an over eager gay fan decided to make a move. We wouldn't want to ruin that playboy image of yours now would we?" The laugh then was like a thin veneer over the hysteria beneath, as though he knew he was being dragged to the gallows and needed to put a brave face on or else degenerate into screaming terror. Johnny couldn't hold back on his own instincts at that sound of pure need, not in the sense of the sexual need that he usually responded to, but for the first time he felt the urge to simply be there for someone without expecting anything in return.

He carefully slid his hand up the arm from where he'd been holding it and then circled it round the other boy's neck, the second arm joining the first and holding the thin form against him, his head resting on the other's hair. The wound on his chest stung where he pressed them together, the shredded material of his uniform probably stuck in it, pulling against the cut with their movement. There was a moment of stiffness as the form waited, as though for some hidden trap or surprise, but when he simply continued to hold on the muscles relaxed and almost melted perfectly against him. The feel of hands sliding across the lycra material of his suit followed not long after, the arms slowly moving until they circled his waist, the black haired head turned and pressed into his shoulder with a hesitancy that made it seem like he was asking permission. It was instinct again that made him press a kiss to the dark crown, arms tightening possessively now that they had hold and he gently nuzzled the soft strands of the shorter boy.

"Screw my image. I was sick of it anyway. I think I'd rather try and make myself a new one." The form in his arms shuddered at his whispered words and he smiled against the dark head.

"You know, in spite of all this I still never got your name." The head pressed closer to him, the hot breath ghosting across the front of his neck.

"Michael. Michael Wishart." Johnny slowly rubbed circles on Michael's back through the rough fabric of his jacket, feeling contentment mixed with arousal at being so close together.

"It's been nice to meet you Michael." He lowered his head a few inches so he could speak into the shell of the other man's ear, his voice husky and sincere as he spoke words he hadn't said to anyone since he became the Human Torch, thanking the surfer as he shed the last vestiges of the person he'd been before.

"When can I see you again?"

_Fin_


	8. Chapter 8

**Firey Rebirth**

_Ok, this chapter is dedicated to Morgan :) Can't believe I haven't thanked you in AGES!_

_This one took a while to get out. A) I had visitors this weekend so didn't do any writing. B) I had no idea where I wanted to set this one in terms of the movie timeline. One of the troubles with it was that the movie moves incredibly fast – they have only a matter of days before Galactus arrives, so there would realistically be no time for Johnny to sit around for vast amounts of time conversing with someone he just met. They'd have to move… and fast._

_Also, I had to take several liberties with the story and plot (obviously), in this chapter more than most._

_Hope that's ok with you all… Though god help you if I get a message pointing out some minor canon mistake ;) _

_Enjoy! (Hopefully)_

**Chapter 8**

It was strange he supposed, considering the danger and threat that were posed by the surfer, to be able to stand so close to him and not feel at all unnerved or in jeopardy. He stood there with the final component of Reed's machine grasped in his hand, looking up at the silver form that hovered only a short distance away on his board. He didn't know why he hesitated to do what he was there to do, why he didn't just shove the part in as soon as that voice had come up behind him and spoken in that now familiar tone. Perhaps it was the feeling of disconnection that enveloped this entire enterprise, a sort of wrongness that seemed to fill the very air. There was something almost blasphemous about a confrontation away from the bustle of human society. As though the trees that surrounded them, as old and constant as time, were staring down in disapproval at being disturbed by something as petty as human concerns. They were the ones out of place here. Like a lone weed protruding from between the bricks of a perfect driveway. The surfer's silver skin clashed with the vibrancy of nature around them, while his own sleek uniform implied a technology and sophistication that wasn't welcome in these remaining unspoilt areas of the earth.

Add to that the knowledge that the whole idea had been part of a plan conceived by Doom; a man who Johnny knew could not be trusted. Hell everyone knew he wasn't to be trusted, Reed, Sue, Ben. Yet they had all agreed to it for the simple fact that no other options had presented themselves. Nevertheless, the glint of smug victory that had flashed in those eyes when they had agreed to help with his plan had told him that Doom wasn't in this to save the planet. His gaze had been as calculating and cold as the metal he had turned into, and Johnny could have sworn he'd heard cogs turning inside that head. A head that housed an amazing mind. Something the General seemed to completely overlook. Oh Johnny had no doubt that Reed's was more scientifically adept, more 'clever', but Doom had a mind that calculated for everything, saw all the options, and then ruthlessly manipulated and exploited everything and everyone around him until those options favoured him. He had a feeling that the man could look at a basket of fluffy kittens and somehow come up with a scheme for world domination. It was a kind of brilliance that military minds didn't seem capable of understanding.

Oh he didn't necessarily think the General was an idiot, or even a bad decision maker and strategist, he simply suffered from the same mental condition that seemed to afflict the entirety of the US political and military branches. He thought he was above them, that no single person could possibly pose a threat to an entire nation or planet. It was a vestigial concept, left over from the days before superheroes and villains were everywhere, before men who could control metal with their minds or read and influence thoughts and emotions. It was an ideology that they needed to grow out of, though he had a sinking feeling that before whatever plan Doom was hatching was over the General would have learnt it. Most people only let themselves fall for a trick once. The country as a whole however, seemed to be rather slow at learning. This was a foe that had no conventional army to fight, no forces to outmanoeuvre, no inferior firepower to overwhelm. This was a man; who like al-Qaeda and the Viet-cong, could strike them and then vanish before any of their weapons could be brought to bear. A man who believed he was better than them and wouldn't hesitate to exploit any advantage he could get, no matter how dangerous or underhanded. You didn't rise to the status of a super villain and conquer a country unless you were pretty good at doing what you did.

And now he had plans for the surfer, and possibly them as well, plans that wouldn't be beneficial to anyone except Doom. The thought of what would happen if the board fell into those deceivingly skin like hands, was not something he wanted to dwell on. It was a thought he could see bubbling not only in his own mind, but in the rest of his team mates as well, while the General had calmly gone on about the safety precautions, not realising that no vault, lock or guard would possibly stand against Doom. And when he got his hands on his prize no doubt the villain would live up to his namesake then, sowing destruction in his wake.

"I am not the one who will destroy you." He started at the sound of the surfer's smooth voice, wondering if the humanoid had been reading his thoughts about Doom and what he would do, before remembering he had asked why the surfer was going to wipe out the planet.

"I am only a herald for a greater threat, one who is on his way even now. He will consume your world, feeding upon the energy it holds, as he has done to countless others." The hand holding the machine's core dropped to his side as he stepped slightly forward with a sense of urgency, the surfer descending a couple of feet until he only had to tilt his head back slightly to meet those blank silver eyes.

"Then why are you doing this? Why are you helping something that destroys worlds and murders billions of people?" He didn't know how he could tell, there was no apparent change to the metallic face, but sadness seemed to permeate the being before him.

"Love can make people do many things to protect or save the object of its affection. Even things that make them no longer worthy of that love." There was a moment of silence in the woods surrounding them, barely a hint of wind stirring the leaves into motion as Johnny tried to understand what the alien was telling him. Their conversation above the destroyed London Eye flashed through his mind.

"_I know what it is like to bring destruction where one does not wish to. I know the horror of being forced to do and be something you were never meant to. I above all other creatures in the universe know this lesson better than anyone."_

It came together for him slowly, the surfer's apparent disinterest in fighting, his cool and methodical steps. These weren't the actions of someone bent on destruction, these were the steps of a pre-programmed plan, like a manual for destroying a world. It also made no sense to tunnel these massive holes in the planet for someone the same size as him, someone who he'd seen pass straight through solid matter. Surely if he wanted to go to the earth's core he could do it without going to such extreme lengths.

"_But unlike my suffering, which brings life to my people…"_

And there it was.

"You made a deal." It was simply a statement, emotionless and flat. The silver head tilted only slightly in acknowledgement, and surprisingly he didn't feel any recrimination or anger at the surfer's decision. He supposed old Johnny would have been furious, tried to beat the living shit out of the creature for choosing one person over an entire galaxy, but now he found himself unable to. Maybe because old Johnny was always about the mission, always about the thrill, the chase, the fight. New Johnny however, understood feelings, understood emotions, and wanted them for himself. He wanted to feel so strongly for someone that he'd be willing to give up anything, anyone, to keep that person with him. He wasn't sure whether that was a weakness or a strength. Did the ability to choose love over life make a person better? Or merely selfish?

No matter how he looked at it there didn't seem to be a clear answer, the surfer's 'gift' of mental clarity more ambiguous with each revelation that was given to him. Instead he wondered if he could ever have made the same decision. A small voice within him raged at the very notion, not even a hint of doubt or thought, a fading echo of the façade he'd worn in the past. The rest of him however, was less certain. He was sure in the galactic scheme of things the life of one person or even one planet was insignificant compared to the greater good. Academic thought therefore said that it was prudent to sacrifice the few for the many. But as he saw, heard and felt the beauty of the forest around him, and thought briefly of green eyes lying far away in a hospital bed, green eyes he'd promised to see again, he doubted that the decision would come as simply, or as easily, as logic seemed to make it. In that indecision he understood the surfer's torment, though still had no idea why the surfer seemed to have taken such an interest in him.

The sudden crashing and tearing of undergrowth was an unwelcome disturbance that echoed from the forest behind him, his head turning away from reflective features to see flashes of his team approaching from behind him. The black and blue of their uniforms and the burnt orange colour of Ben were all as out of place amidst their surroundings as he was, the bushes and shrubs that they crushed underfoot snapping and bending with a sound that was almost angry at their disturbance. They seemed to freeze at the other side of the small clearing he was located in, staring at the two of them next to the machine, Reed's eyes flicking swiftly from his face to the component in his hand before back up again. He tried to tell them with his eyes that he was fine, that they needed to stay back and leave everything to him. It was a trust that he probably didn't deserve after the way he'd behaved in the past, and the way he had refused to tell them anything about where he'd gone in London, but he begged for it anyway. He knew they thought he'd gone out drinking, that they had been upset that at such a critical time he'd run off for booze and women. But he hadn't been ready to share what had happened with them, only hope that they would forgive him when the time came.

He saw the recognition first in Sue, watching as his sister looked into his eyes and then realised that something had changed. He felt a sense of relief as she laid a hand on Reed's arm, a silent gesture to stay back, her eyes showing something that wasn't quite approval or pride but was a long way from the disappointment and pain that had always been there before. He smiled a brief thanks to her, squelching the urge to run over and hug her, a thought he certainly wouldn't have had in the past, and turned back towards the alien in front of him.

At some point the board had dropped lower again, until it was almost to the ground, and he almost jerked in alarm as that shining face leant in to an almost intimate closeness. A silver hand stretched out toward him and gently pressed against his chest, as though feeling his heart beat within it. The words were only slightly above a whisper, the air that tickled against his lips scented like a foreign spice that both tantalised and alarmed him.

"All of us face choices in our lives, most are small, some are infinitely large, and we must all live with the consequences of those decisions. I chose to sacrifice both my heart and my soul to save my love, knowing that I would never see her again. Many have disagreed with that choice, calling me uncaring or ruthless." He didn't understand what the surfer was trying to tell him, whether he was trying to explain why he was dooming their planet, or why he had done what he had to Johnny.

"What…?" His voice was slightly warped, both in confusion about the conversation and also the proximity of the silver eyes that seemed to know everything about him.

"You still doubt what has happened to you and what you are feeling. You search for a reason, some… _evidence_… to explain it, and to excuse your choices and behaviour because of that." The words were said in a tone that almost seemed like a type of comfort, as though his confusion and uncertainty were understood and accepted. There was silence for a minute; the only sound his own nervous breathing as unreadable silver met uncertain blue.

"I did the same once, searching for any excuse that would allow me to escape the understanding of what I had done. But when I led him to the first world I found, I stayed to watch him feed, consuming the planet and its inhabitants without an ounce of regret or remorse. I realised then that the only person I could answer to was myself; that no other could understand the magnitude or enormity of my crime, and that no one could forgive me for it. No matter what anyone else says about you that is where the final judgement lays. You can lie to others, you can plot and deceive, but in the mind the truth is always revealed, even if we try to avoid it." The edges of smooth, shining lips seemed to quirk slightly as though in amusement.

"But you are already starting to understand I think. The boy, from the other day, no?" He could feel himself blushing as he nodded slightly in a sort of embarrassed daze.

"Did you enjoy it?" The deep voice was almost a purr, if aliens could understand the concept of a purr that is, and the fingers on his chest moved to draw gentle circles against the thin lycra. He didn't know how to answer that question, knowing that somehow the surfer knew he had kissed the other boy at the hospital, though luckily no answer seemed to be required.

"Sometimes we simply have to accept that all we have is the _knowledge_, not the means to explain it. The knowledge that what you are doing is not wrong. That is how I came to accept it." The blank gaze shot briefly over his shoulder before coming back to him, the hand sliding slightly upwards until two cool fingers brushed gently underneath his chin, holding their gazes locked.

"Those who care for you will come to accept the choices you make, or at least try to understand them. Those that don't should be beyond your notice. As long as you do what it is within you to do, and not what is expected of you by others or by your own unrealistic expectations, then no decision is wrong. If you are who you are, then what anyone else thinks of your choices is irrelevant." For a brief instant Johnny thought he saw a flicker in the unchanging eyes that were so close to him, a movement or flash that seemed to make the blank silver something deeper, something more. The surfer moved towards him only the smallest amount, the motion so soft, so smooth, and so unexpected, that the slightly chilled lips pressed against his and were gone again before he even had time to register that it was happening.

"You remind me of her in some ways. She too had trouble understanding that not all decisions are about good and evil, or right and wrong. Some decisions are about being who you are, and living with the consequences." Johnny barely heard the words as his mind tried to understand what had just happened, one hand grasping the machine the other clenched tightly around its final component. He felt almost pity for the silver being floating before him, the chill fingertips still softly pressed to the underside of his chin, that spicy breath still smothering all other smells, his lips still tingling where cool flesh had covered them. It stirred something inside him. Not the same as it had been in the hospital, nothing as intense or desired, but something small, something brief, that combined gratitude, understanding and sorrow all into one, and he thought he understood then why the surfer had helped him.

A final chance at salvation.

An attempt to make up for abandoning a lost love a lifetime ago.

A bid for forgiveness he didn't think he deserved, from a person he could never receive it from.

He thought he could almost imagine what that pain must feel like. Something so deep, so constant that you almost couldn't imagine your life without it. He had been like that until this man had helped him, his own thoughts and feelings repressed so far down that even their knowledge had been stricken from his mind, leaving only a pain that couldn't be removed, a parade of alcohol and women unable to satiate it. He had been set free by the being they now sought to capture.

"This machine can take away your board." He had whispered the words before he comprehended that his mouth was even moving, the surfer tilting his head back in surprise as those eyes turned to the open container behind him.

"They know that your power comes from it." There was a sudden roar from somewhere in the distance, a brief flare of gas and flame as a rocket appeared at the other side of the huge chasm and blasted towards them. The surfer looked at him briefly as if searching for some evidence of his complicity in this attack. He hoped he didn't find it, the silver form turning back towards the approaching projectile, lifting a few feet into the sky and calming allowing the missile to strike the underside of his board. He almost threw himself to the ground at the expectation of the explosion, would have, if his mind had been able to understand that what he was seeing was more than just a spectacle for him to watch. No shockwave struck his frame though, no flames bloomed across the sky, no sound shook the forest around them. The missile simply disappeared without a trace. Silver met blue yet again as the forest began to come alive with the sounds of people and machinery, his eyes saying the same thing he heard yelled from his lips.

"Go! Now!" There was a brief pause, something in those eyes that almost seemed grateful, and then silver shot off into the distance like a streak of light, almost dancing amidst the dense trunks and undergrowth surrounding them. Hands reached out and grabbed him, shoving him into the ground harshly as fingers clawed at the part his hand. He struggled against them, eyes still locked onto the retreating figure in the distance. A knee was planted between his shoulder blades, his arm wrenched painfully backwards until his hand had no choice but to release the machine core to the waiting soldiers. There was a click followed by a mechanised hum, the sounds of Reed and Sue's voice loud in the clearing, though whether in his aid or rebuke he wasn't sure, his ears gone deaf as his eyes narrowed to just the figure in the distance.

The hum grew in pitch, a background hum to the sound of voices and men running, and the silver form shook and seemed to lose control, vanishing behind trees and bushes too thick to peer through anymore. With a frantic energy he threw the soldiers off of him, hands and feet striking out at anyone he could reach, not caring if he injured them as long as they let him go, and then his feet took off towards the spot that silver shape had disappeared. He could hear other footsteps behind him, and make out men wearing fatigues ahead of him and not far to each side, a ring of humanity closing in on the likely location of the alien. He almost crossed his fingers like a child, hoping that somehow a mistake had been made, that Reed had messed up and the machines were all wrong.

It was a hope that he knew was not well founded.

_Fin_


	9. Chapter 9

**Firey Rebirth**

_Ok, this has been a long time coming and I apologise most profusely for that :)_

_I wanted to do a chapter from Michael's POV and it proved very difficult to write because naturally with Johnny off chasing the surfer there couldn't be any interaction between them and so there would be no one there to help him._

_I tried to show the conflict that's going on within him – the struggle he's facing between what he hopes for and what he fears. I'm not sure I succeeded very well, but let me know._

_Thanks again to the people who reviewed, it was the final review I got just like a day or two ago that pushed me over the edge and I sat down and just had to hammer away at this until it said what I wanted it to. I don't think it's a great chapter, but it adds to the backstory of Michael and (I hope) makes him more than just a casual OC who serves as a backdrop for Johnny's own issues._

_Enjoy, and please let me know what you think! (If you're so inclined of course)_

**Chapter 9**

The window was uncomfortably warm under the chill of his palm. The hospital was air conditioned for the patients comfort, as well as the preservation of precious drugs and equipment, but no man made cooling could compete against the blazing ball of hydrogen that currently assaulted the glass from the other side. Every now and then he felt a cool gust of air whisper against the back of his neck, the vent struggling futilely to try and combat the slowly rising temperature. At least here however the window was still intact, trapping what little frigid air was produced. They'd had to move him after Johnny's sudden and impromptu visit through the window of his old room, which had resulted in melted glass and a frame that was welded in the open position. His new habitat now faced west though, looking out over the city, and the afternoon sun was slowly baking the room to what could have passed for a toasty summer day on the beach. That is if it weren't for the fact that he was wearing hospital issue boxers rather than board shorts, and quietly humming equipment provided the background noise instead of crashing waves and childish screams. To him though, the heat was both unsettling and comforting, its caress uneasily reminding him of slightly burning hands that had cradled him to a firm yet equally searing body.

"_When can I see you again?"_

He shivered slightly, though not from any chill, the memory of whispered words and warm breath as powerful as the real thing had been and making his knees go just as weak. He couldn't deny that the attraction he felt for the youngest member of the Fantastic Four was a little overpowering, he'd felt helpless at the blatant offer of a return visit, even after he'd confessed that he felt the other man was simply stringing him along. It upset him that, as those words had been whispered to him, his heart had soared at the thought of a second meeting, well third really, but for purposes seemingly more intimate than saving strangers in a disaster zone. His doubts had seemed to vanish, and, held in muscular arms, feeling those oh so hot hands pressed against his bare skin, he desperately wanted more. He wanted to forget about his reputation, about what it would mean; to not worry about whether there was a future with the man in front of him and just let the Torch press him down on the narrow hospital bed behind them, see that amazing body without the thin layer of lycra, feel those powerful muscles as they took him, and know that for those few moments Johnny Storm would be his. He'd been disgusted with himself later, as he'd known he would be, and infinitely thankful that if the other youth had picked up on his desire, he had chosen not to act on it. Instead, he had taken his leave with only a delicate press of lips, a tentative request to trust that he would return.

Michael hadn't really believed it, and still didn't, not really. Deep down he had to admit to a faint glimmer of hope, a tiny sparkle of possibility, but it was repressed and denied, the kind of surreal wish usually reserved for things like winning the lottery, something everyone secretly wanted but never really hoped to obtain. In fact, if it wasn't for the jacket hanging over the back of the chair in the corner, and the memory of intense eyes and hands, he might have written the whole thing off to a drug or pain induced hallucination.

Well that, and the magazines.

The first ones had turned up while they were still settling him into his new room, no doubt a special edition printed as fast as the machines could handle, just to make quick money. Thankfully, being a hospital, no one present had a camera handy at the time, so there were no photos of himself and Johnny in the hallway together. The article was, in reality, nothing but hearsay and conjecture. They didn't really need photographs or facts however to make the story a big one. It was about a member of the Fantastic Four, a celebrity, and where famous people were concerned even the Bigfoot photos would have been proof enough. Besides, the articles weren't exactly without _any_ evidence. There were pictures of the melted window, images of the Human Torch flying from one room to another, and the eyewitness reports of two dozen hospital staff and patients who all had no difficulty verifying that it had happened. It had actually come as a huge surprise to him that the first story had been as unbiased as it was, for a tabloid rag of course, reporting only that it had happened and speculating on how it had occurred. It didn't try to comment on motives or who had done what to whom, just the limited facts, with a tiny hint of conjecture to tantalize the taste buds. He'd actually decided it had been most likely due to some zealous editor, not wanting to act too hastily in case it might put the magazine offside with the famous hero team.

The second article wasn't nearly so pleasant.

Rather than taking the cautious road and waiting for the truth, the more recent editor had obviously decided to keep the Four onside by acting as if the magazine was defending them. The headline had immediately jumped on side, boldly proclaiming that the Torch had been seduced by sin and wickedness in the form of a youthful male whore. His photo was there, conveniently located right next to the word whore, though not a very recent one by the looks of it. They'd obviously had trouble tracking down anything more current, because he seemed to remember having that haircut in his first years of college, a wild mass of colours and lengths that had been a rebellion against both his parents and the school that he'd just finished. So if his memory was correct, then the thing was at least like five years old. At the time it had been fun and wild, but in this context however it made him look cheap and easy, like a tart with too much makeup on. The fact that he looked like he was only 18 in the picture merely added to their claims.

He hadn't read the rest of the article; the headline and the captions told him everything he needed to know, as they would to anyone who even glanced in a news vendor's window. If the younger Storm sibling had even a thought of honouring the plans he'd made before leaving, then after seeing these stories he certainly wouldn't. This press went far beyond one night stands with women in bars, or driving fast cars and drinking too much. This was reputation destroying stuff. Hell, by now his would be dust.

He sighed and turned away from the window, limping slowly back to the bed and taking an awkward seat on the edge, the drip frame serving as both a walking stick and something to ground him. The phone glared silently at him from the bedside table, the cord wrapped tightly around it, disconnected from the wall when calls somehow managed to get through to him, in spite of his specific request that they be blocked. It had already started, the changes that would mark the rest of his life were becoming apparent. His parents, assuming they weren't somewhere on a plane right now, and friends back home had no doubt already been tracked down and contacted, their uncertainty and fear at his possible death during the London attack replaced by surprise and possibly disgust at what the news would be saying he'd done. Or had done to him. An image he'd spent years cultivating and nurturing, destroyed in a matter of a few minutes by the simple fact that he hadn't been strong enough to resist the fiery superhero in the crowded hallway.

Michael grit his teeth at the well deserved self recrimination, knowing that he was as bad as he thought he was, and that everything that was happening, he'd brought on himself. He'd spent years dismissing unwanted advances, as well as wanted ones. God, saying no to the head of the college swim team had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. But the guy had a reputation for using and losing; he was bi. So while he liked to have fun with men, he was always very clear that his future was with a woman. Still, the sight of that body as he'd bumped into him coming out of a training session, towel hanging loosely off slim hips, taught muscles gleaming with water, had haunted Michael for months afterwards. But he _had _made the right decision, and to him it had seemed like the tipping point, the clichéd road, diverging in the woods, where he'd have to make a choice that would affect not only how others viewed him, but how he chose to view himself. There'd been no repercussions from that though, no life altering result, just a few weeks debating the pros and cons back and forth, before he'd remembered that he'd chosen the right path, and the doubts had faded. When he'd met Alex later that semester, someone who had been looking for the same things he had, he'd known he'd done the right thing.

For that reason, as much as the fact that the guy was stunning, he desperately both clung to and rejected the hope that the Torch wasn't just messing with him. The guy wasn't gay! For Christ's sake he'd read the newspapers, watched the news, seen the images. The Torch was as straight as an arrow, and apparently a lousy person on top of it. But he'd kissed him! _He'd_ made the first move, not Michael. So he couldn't be completely straight, could he? And even if he was a _little_ gay, what the hell was he after him for? Was he experimenting and just happened to decide that the first gay guy he met would be good to try it with?

All his reasoning's were at odds with the man's own actions however. He'd been careful, tender, sincere… And deep, very deep, down, Michael _wanted_ to believe that what he'd seen was the real Johnny Storm. That the hero who'd kissed him in the hallway, held him in spite of his arguments, and promised to come back again even though he could have found himself a far easier lay, that _that_, was the man behind the mask, not the arrogant, posing, asshole that adorned the tabloids on a daily basis.

He coughed awkwardly, grimacing as the motion pulled at the wound across his chest, a sign that at least _something_ was going on between them. He'd saved him that afternoon, swooping out of the sky and plucking him from underneath the plummeting carriage like some demonic angel, writhed in flame; saving him from the jaws of death, and dooming him to a fate that seemed just as bad. A fate filled with doubt and uncertainty. After all, there'd been heaps of people who'd died without even a glance from the Torch, but somehow, _he'd _been saved. Not only that, but he'd come to visit. Johnny Storm had deliberately gone out of his way to come and apologise for burning him, surely not the first time such a thing had happened, yet he'd come. Superheroes didn't have time for that sort of thing, if Spiderman went to see every person who ever got hurt while he was swinging around saving people he'd never leave the damn hospital. None of that necessarily meant that the Torch was looking for more than just a casual fling though, all of it could simply mean that he'd thought he was cute and wouldn't mind a piece of his ass.

He lay back down on the sheets, a faint trace of their original coolness clinging to the fabric as the fading rays of light still heated his flesh. It was all just so confusing, and it wasn't supposed to be. Sure it wasn't meant to be easy, but this went far beyond anything he'd ever thought he'd have to deal with. It was that which made him desperately squelch down on even the thought that what had happened to him could lead to something more. He simply wouldn't let himself take it seriously, if only to save himself the pain when it turned out that the Torch never returned. Or that he returned simply for something that Michael desperately didn't want to give him, but knew that he would if asked.

So he pressed it down deeply, picked up the magazine beside the bed and forced himself to read every disgusting and horrible article, ever nasty comment and crude insult, using it as ammunition to blast away at his hope until even he thought he was a disgusting person, and the tears blurred his vision too much to continue. He turned away from the brightness flowing in through the glass, not wanting to watch the fiery sunset or think of anything that had to do with the Fantastic Four, Johnny Storm or the Human Torch. He just wanted to go to sleep and hopefully wake up tomorrow to find the whole thing had been a horrible dream. That was easy enough right? People lived their whole lives in denial sometimes.

Fate seemed to be against him however, and the sandman refused to visit him for a long, long time. His eyes stayed open, watching the shadows as they crept slowly up the pale pink wall the same thoughts swirling around and around until he thought he'd never be able to sleep again. It wasn't until the room was well and truly dark that he finally fell into slumber, where, even asleep his dreams offered no escape. Instead they were filled with warm smiles and tender caresses. A Hope that he'd spent so long trying to crush. Visions of beautiful blue eyes swam before him as muscular arms enfolded him and heated breath brushed against his ear.

"_When can I see you again?"_

_Fin_


End file.
